


Is It Still You?

by Curreeus



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curreeus/pseuds/Curreeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert and Lovino were childhood friends and meet up again when they become college roommates - but things aren't quite like they used to be, and Gilbert doesn't seem to want to explain why.<br/>Rated because language and also a tiny bit of violence in later chapters.<br/>Written for Melloohsaur as a Prumano Secret Santa</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do I Know You?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mellooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellooh/gifts).



When Lovino thinks back, he realises that the whole thing is Antonio’s fault.

Well, a lot of things are Antonio’s fault – but this especially.

It’s Antonio’s fault for inviting Lovino out for drinks one last time before Lovino heads off to college at the end of the week, it’s his fault that he’d left Lovino sitting at a table alone for ten minutes before he even shows up, and now, it’s Antonio’s fault for bringing his stupid friends.

Well… he might have warned Lovino about that, but he’d forgotten, and he just really wanted to blame Antonio for the jealousy he feels at having to share him with two other losers.

Antonio has always been “just” Lovino’s friend, right from when they’d met when Lovino was in 3rd grade and Antonio was in 5th. Antonio has other friends, of course – but whenever he hangs out with Lovino, it’s always just the two of them.

Which is why he feels so betrayed when Antonio enters the bar with two other guys in tow. He spots Lovino and comes over, smiling as though the sun had come out just for him.

But he’s always like that; Lovino is used to it.

“Hey Lovi! Sorry I’m late, I hope you haven’t been waiting long…”

Lovino has his mouth open and ready to retort when he’s pulled up short by noticing the two guys who followed Antonio in and are now standing on either side of him.

The one on Antonio’s left has shoulder length blonde hair, brownish-blonde stubble and a prettier face than any man has a right to have. Lovino has never met him before.

The other, however, is dressed in a hoodie and ripped jeans, with messy pale hair and striking purple-red eyes that scan the crowd in the bar uninterestedly.

Lovino blinks and takes a sharp breath, because he looks just like… no, it can’t be.

Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Lovino knows him very well.

He’s suddenly thrown back into first grade, when he and Feliciano were sent three houses down the street to go play with the two Beilschmidt brothers Gilbert and Ludwig; or when he’d fallen and scraped his knee on the playground and Gilbert had been there to punch the face of the kid who’d laughed and called him a little fag. There’d been sleepovers and whispered secrets about girls they though were cute and birthday parties and Gilbert telling him that he wanted to be a knight when he was older, and then, finally, a teary goodbye when the Beilschmidts had moved across the country in order for Gilbert to attend a high school that they’d hand-picked for him.

They never left a forwarding address.

Lovino feels a strange surge of relief – he had been convinced he’d never see Gilbert again, and the more than a decade that had passed since they’d seen each other had only solidified that fear. He can’t wait to talk to him and catch up – a lot can happen in twelve years, after all.

But there’s something wrong.

Gilbert’s gaze alights on Lovino and his eyes widen. He blinks, once, and a tiny frown brings his brows closer together, as though he’s confused as to why Lovino’s looking at him. Then he shakes his head a little and leans over to tell Antonio that he’s ‘going to get the drinks, be right back’, and disappears into the crowd towards the bar.

Lovino just frowns, not sure what to feel.

He’d been expecting some big reception – a yell, a “hey Lovino”, an embarrassing hug. It’s what Gilbert would have done twelve years ago.

But then… that was twelve years ago.

Was it possible he’d forgotten Lovino? It had been ten years after all, and hazy green eyes and floppy brown hair are a lot less distinct than white hair and violet-red eyes – maybe he just didn’t recognise him. But… he didn’t have the blank expression of someone who just didn’t remember – he’d actually looked like Lovino had ruined his night by being there.

Maybe Gilbert was… _ashamed_ of Lovino? He looks down quickly, checking himself over for anything embarrassing, like cat-hair from Feliciano’s overweight cat Pooky, or foodstains on his shirt. But no, he looked fine.

So what the fuck was Gilbert’s problem?

“Lovi, you ok? You hate it when I ruffle your hair.”

Lovino blinks at Antonio, then grimaces when he realises that Antonio’s other friend was cooing over him, calling him cute and ruffling his hair. He pushes the blonde guy’s hand away, crossing his arms and looking down at the table.

“Nothing… this jerk’s perfume is so strong I was just frozen in horror, that's all.”

The blonde guy just chuckles and seats himself next to Lovino. “It’s a tasteful cologne, actually, you just aren’t used to such class.”

Antonio chuckles. “Lovino, this is Francis. Francis – Lovino.”

He looks so happy to be introducing everyone, and though Lovino grimaces as Francis’ arm sits a little too close to his on the table, he tries to ignore it, because Antonio clearly really wants them to get along. And besides, Francis might be a little annoying, but he hasn’t given Lovino a reason to hate him yet. He might as well try to be nice.

“So uh… how do you know Antonio?”

Francis smiles, not seeming to notice Lovino’s wince at the awkward ice-breaker, and Antonio sits down on the other side of the table opposite Lovino, smiling sweetly like he always does.

“Antonio, Gilbert and I were high school friends, actually. I met them when we all wound up in detention and these two imbeciles decided to pass notes…Gilbert passed a note meant for Antonio to me, and I then astounded them both with my razor wit – and the rest, as they say, is history.”

Lovino just smiles weakly, distracted, and though Francis continues, he doesn’t really hear a lot of it.

So it _was_ Gilbert, Lovino hadn’t just made a mistake. He shifts uncomfortably, looking towards where Gilbert had disappeared into the crowd, wondering what the hell his problem is.

Maybe Gilbert had become an asshole in the twelve years since they’d seen each other – maybe he’d decided that Lovino was an embarrassment to him. Lovino had always been younger, so maybe Gilbert just viewed him as a little kid who wasn’t worth his time.

It would certainly make sense of his attempt to ignore him.

Lovino sees Gilbert making his way back through the crowd, three beer glasses pressed carefully together in his hands, and frowns, suddenly angry at him.

_Well, fuck you too,_ he thinks.

Francis tries to claim his attention once again.

“So, Lovino, Antonio tells me you’re heading off to college next week. Congratulations – what are you studying?”

Lovino tears his gaze from Gilbert and faces Francis again, scrambling for a reply.

“Uh… architecture, actually.”

Francis raises his brows in surprise. “Really? Such a prestigious course… Antonio failed to mention anything of the sort.”

Antonio just shrugs from across the table. Lovino huffs, frustrated, and seeing that Gilbert is almost at their table, raises his voice a little to make sure it carries.

“Well, maybe I’m just smarter than anyone gives me credit for.”

A pair of pale hands slam three glasses of beer down on the table then, and everyone looks up at Gilbert in surprise.

“Bottoms up!”

Gilbert’s smile is a little too wide, his voice a little too loud. Lovino narrows his eyes as he moves around the table and sits next to Antonio, waving a hand at Lovino.

“Oh, I didn’t know what you wanted, so you have to get your own.”

Lovino just scowls. “Fine.”

He stares Gilbert down for a few moments while the pale-haired man obstinately decides to not look at him, instead looking over at Francis, who’s speaking. Lovino stands, walking deliberately slowly over to the bar to get a glass of shitty wine just so he has something to drink and an excuse to not talk to Gilbert.

When he returns, the three are deep in some story or other, heads close together, and Lovino feels like a complete outsider when he sits back down next to Francis and sips his wine, grimacing.

Then, Antonio straightens up.

“Lovino and Gilbert, I haven’t introduced you yet, I just remembered! Lovino, this is Gilbert – Gilbert, this is Lovino.”

Antonio grins, and Gilbert reaches a hand across the table to shake. Lovino takes it reluctantly.

“Yeah,” Lovino says, taking the opportunity. “I know Gilbert.”

Antonio tilts his head in confusion, smile still in place, and Francis frowns at the side of Gilbert’s head.

Gilbert just looks a little bit sick before he coughs and gives the stupid grin again.

“Do you?”

Lovino smiles, but it’s not a happy expression.

“Yeah, we spent most of our childhoods together, remember? We used to live on the same street.”

Gilbert appears to think for a moment, his face blank. Then, he shakes his head.

“I think you must have the wrong guy, we don’t know each other. How weird that there’s another Gilbert walking around who looks like me, though? I bet he isn’t anywhere near as awesome as me.”

He laughs a little, grin somehow still in place. Lovino just narrows his eyes, letting go of Gilbert’s hand.

There’s something strange about the whole thing – Lovino isn’t convinced that “I’m the wrong Gilbert” is all there is to it. But there’s nothing he can really say to that, so he just glares.

After a few moments, Antonio shrugs, oblivious to the delicate situation he’s disturbing.

“Oh well Lovi, it’s an easy mistake to make. How’s your wine?”

Lovino tears his gaze from Gilbert, who’s sipping his beer, and eyes Antonio.

“It’s shit and you know it.”

Both Francis and Antonio insist on trying the wine after that, agreeing on the awful calibre, and Lovino is quizzed about his taste in wine… all while Gilbert stays relatively silent.

This apparently is strange for him, seeing that he gets asked about it and gives some bullshit answer about the beer not being as good as he remembers and being put off by it.

Lovino begs to differ; Antonio and Francis don’t complain about the beer at all, and are talkative and happy to include him in the conversation. Gilbert’s role in the relationship, however, seems to be “sit in the corner, nurse a beer, offer dry comments occasionally and generally be an ass as he watches his two friends try to be nice to a mutual friend.”

Lovino would feel sorry for him if he didn’t keep shooting Lovino sideways glances all evening. He eventually catches his eye and scowls at him, getting a lopsided grin in return.

He doesn’t say anything though – not, “Oh I remember now” or “who do you think I am, anyway”, or anything, and it doesn’t look as though he’s going to. He’s just going to let Lovino leave without explaining anything.

Fine, jerk.

Barely an hour and a half after arriving – an hour was too short to be polite and he didn’t think he could make it to two – Lovino stands and makes his excuses, trying to give Antonio some money for the glass of frankly offensively bad wine he’d had.

“Sorry Toni, I should head home. Nonno’s probably waiting up, and I uh… I have things to pack…”

Antonio merely nods, brushing off the cash he’d laid on the table and extracting himself from Francis – who’d laid a hand over his shoulder during a particularly wild anecdote – so he could stand to give Lovino a hug.

“Don’t forget to keep in touch and tell me all about it!”

“Yeah, sure.”

Antonio pulls back with his brilliant smile in place, and Lovino nods at Francis, who gives him a smile and a wink that was way too natural considering they’d just met that evening. Gilbert, however…

“Yeah, see you…”

He trails off, looking unsure, and Lovino narrows his eyes at him.

He’s forgotten his fucking name.

Of course.

“It’s Lovino, you fucking asshole,” he spits, turning on his heel and stalking out of the bar, weaving between tables of concerned looking patrons.

Just as he pushes open the door, a voice sounds from behind him and a hand grabs his wrist.

“Hey, Lovino, wait!”

Lovino turns, meeting Gilbert’s gaze… did he look _worried?_ He shakes his head, tears his wrist from Gilbert’s grasp and scowls at him.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Gilbert grins despite Lovino’s sour expression, cocking his head a little bit.

“You got it all wrong, I didn’t forget your name. In fact, I’ll make it up to you and explain, just let me – ”

Lovino cuts Gilbert off by leaning closer, making Gilbert lean backwards and give a little frown of confusion.

This is Gilbert, Lovino’s sure of it.

Now that he’s this close he can see the scar in his eyebrow that he got when climbing the oak tree in the park didn’t end well. Lovino was there when he got that scar, he’d stuck the Band-Aid on his forehead.

Lovino knows those purple-red eyes, because he remembers sitting there with his Faber-Castells trying to figure out exactly what colour they were and getting frustrated when they kept changing.

And that grin, the crooked smile that reveals one canine more than the other – he knows that too, it used to come out every time he thought up some crazy scheme.

It’s definitely Gilbert.

Yet for some reason, he refuses to acknowledge Lovino, and it hurts.

He might carry the name and wear the face of Lovino’s best childhood friend. But it’s a façade; this is not the boy he used to know, and it hurts to know that their friendship meant so little to him, when it had meant so much to Lovino.

If the Gilbert he once knew was gone, then he’d rather remember him as he used to be then as this jerk. He wanted to spend as little time with this Gilbert as possible.

“Yeah, you can make it up to me by leaving me the fuck alone, bastard. Good riddance.”

He slams the door behind him, wraps his coat tighter around himself and walks angrily home, deciding that if he saw Gilbert again it would be too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m pretty sure Gilbert isn’t actually meant to be albino, oddly enough – his skin is darker than Germany’s in a lot of official art, his hair is more a grey colour than pigment-less white, and his eyes are not always straight red, so I took a bit of license with his appearance. I imagine that in real life, Gilbert’s eyes are kind of grey-purple that look red in a lot of lights, because who do you know isn’t an albino and has red eyes? And his hair is platinum blonde, here.  
> Also, feel free to comment – this is my first time writing these two, so it’s a bit of an experiment, and the characterisation may not be all there… :P


	2. Sticky Notes

_“Oh fuck you no.”_

This is what Lovino thinks, a week later, suitcase in hand, standing in the doorway to his new college dorm, staring at his new roommate.

Who happens to be one Gilbert Beilschmidt.

When Lovino walked in Gilbert was playing with something in the corner – the wifi, it became apparent when he turned around – but he quickly stands up when he hears the door open, turning and holding out a hand to Lovino almost before he straightens up, as though he’d been waiting poised to do it for hours.

“Hi, I’m Gil – ”

Then he looks up and meet’s Lovino’s gaze, his eyes wide, and Lovino swears he sees something like fear in them before Gilbert coughs and looks away. When he looks back Gilbert’s cocky grin and confident demeanour are solidly in place, and he chuckles.

“Oh, Lovino… fancy seeing you here, who’d have thought we’d end up at the same college, huh?”

Lovino stands his wheeled suitcase up on its end, crossing his arms and fixing Gilbert with the sourest glare he can muster. Not that it does anything, because despite seeming confident, Gilbert’s gaze seems fixed on a point over his shoulder and won’t settle on him.

But Lovino is an expert in identifying assholes, and he knows that Gilbert now qualifies as a grade A asshole in his book, no matter who he used to be.

It hurts. But he’ll deal with it – he dealt with him leaving Lovino behind twelve years ago, didn’t he? He huffs, and speaks.

“Yeah, I didn’t know they took losers like you.”

Gilbert’s grin fades a little.

“Come on, do you have to be like that? Look, I don’t think we got off to a very good start, how about we call a truce and start over?”

Lovino sighs, grabs his suitcase and trundles down to the bedroom that is clearly still free. “I’ve got a better idea, how about you stay out of my way and I stay out of yours? There, everyone’s happy.”

The door slams, and Lovino doesn’t hear the quiet ‘goddammit’ from the shared living room.

**

For the first few weeks of classes, they don’t see all too much of each other, and seem to pass like ships in the night. Either they’re out at classes or in their rooms, studying, and both of them seem to like that system.

Lovino finds himself immersed in architecture, in lines and angles and design and the exact way his pencil curves across the paper and brings a structure from his mind into the real world.

Gilbert is immersed in… whatever the hell he was studying, and doesn’t seem to leave his room at all. They have classes at around the same time but never really seem to bump into each other, because Lovino leaves earlier every morning due to his walk across campus.

 Turns out that admin fucked up and put him in a room-share on the opposite end of campus to all his classes, then couldn’t change it.

Whenever he returns to the dorm the door to Gilbert’s room is shut and music will be leaking under the door, just quietly enough that it doesn’t bother him enough to rap on the door and tell him to keep it down.

It’s actually slightly worrying, considering that Antonio and Francis had Gilbert pegged as loud and social.

Except Lovino isn’t worried. Not at all. Gilbert is just an asshole now, he isn’t worried. It’s just… if someone were to take notice of this behaviour and _didn’t_ know that Gilbert was an asshole, it would be worrying.

Lovino also notes idly that he seems to be the only one making use of the shared kitchen, judging from the contents of the fridge. He would suspect that Gilbert just buys a lot of take-out, except by the look of the few possessions he does have in the shared space, Gilbert doesn’t have the disposable income for that, and there are never any leftovers from it in the fridge or trash.

So when Lovino makes some extra pasta one night – he just… mismeasured it, that’s all, despite never having done that before he did it then by accident – he leaves the leftovers in the fridge.

The sticky note on them reads:

_Choke on it if you want, I don’t give a shit._

_-Lovino_

They are gone within hours, replaced with a sticky note on the fridge itself.

_Thanks_

_My compliments to the chef ;)_

Lovino grimaces. _Is that a fucking winky face?_

But it’s forgivable, because suddenly there’s a bridge built between them and it feels like they’re actually cohabitating rather than happening to live in the same house.

Despite the fact that Gilbert’s an asshole, Lovino likes it better than the stony silence.

It almost feels like they’re friends again.

Lovino will wake up to little things, like a mug and a note on it that says _“I made extra coffee, you’re welcome”,_ and even though he pours it down the sink because Gilbert’s tastebuds are broken and he put too much sugar in he appreciates the gesture. In retaliation though, he leaves French toast for him saying _“enjoy it being cold, jackass”_ and finds the reply within hours – _“we have this thing called a microwave you know”._

The idiot microwaved French toast. Dear Lord he needed help.

But they get into a comfortable rhythm, with Lovino cooking food – because he’s the only one in the apartment with a functioning palate – and Gilbert making little gestures that prove maybe he isn’t as big of an asshole as Lovino had thought. Like when Lovino comes home on a Thursday after classes from hell to find the shared living room completely spotless and a note on the kitchen bench that reads _“I moved some of your stuff, but I’m awesome at cleaning and put it back”._

Secretly, he’s grateful, because if there’s one thing he hates it’s cleaning. But instead he writes a note back saying _“great, now my stuff’s tainted with your gross German germs”_ and leaves it next to the other for Gilbert to find when he exits his room.

But for that moment, Lovino starts his homework – and he doesn’t really notice that he’s smiling while he does it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I realised halfway through writing this that it was probably meant to be set in America, judging from the use of the word “college” in the prompt. However, I think I should put a little disclaimer to say that I’m Australian, and therefore: I have very little idea of how the American… ANYTHING works. So this will basically be a slice of Australian Uni life as I know it, with some terms changed to sound more American. I cheated, basically.  
> Feel free to ask questions, or correct me if anything is glaringly “not how that works at all”. I’d be happy to answer and correct things so it’s easier to read. : )


	3. Skipping Class

_The class is bullshit,_ Lovino thinks three weeks later.

The class is bullshit, the lecturer is not merely a dick but a big bag of them, and the subject has nothing to do with architecture and everything to do with “how the arts fit in at college”.

Lovino has exactly zero fucks to give about it.

Attendance isn’t even taken, and the lecture is not compulsory – he’s just been going so that he can look his Nonno in the eyes and say that yes, he hasn’t been wasting the money he scrounged from god knows where so that Lovino could have  a tertiary education.

So when he misses his alarm and wakes up an hour late to realise he’ll never make it to the start of the lecture, rather than walk in late and risk the lecturer’s wrath in a lecture that he gets nothing out of anyway, except maybe a reason to complain, he decides that _fuck it,_ he is not going.

However, the north end of campus is where he usually hangs out between classes with Belle, an upbeat industrial design major who’d for some reason decided to befriend grumpy Lovino, and he knows that most of the class will be hanging out around there and he’ll immediately be grilled on why he wasn’t in lecture. Plus it’d be a ten minute walk because of his ridiculous living situation.

So he doesn’t go there.

Instead, he walks down to the tiny plaza on the east side of the campus to the café run by some of the culinary students, because he knows that they make great coffee and he’s too lazy to make his own.

The walk down there is brisk – it’s coming up to autumn and the wind has a bit of a chill to it, and Lovino tries to smooth down his hair down into something resembling acceptable as he enters the café. He notices that the cashier is a petite girl with dark skin and a cute smile aimed at him, and he gives her the smile that Feliciano had told him once was “very charming” as he orders.

Not that he was listening when he’d told him, because Feliciano is an idiot – but it makes her wink at him in return, so maybe he’d been onto something.

While he waits for it to be made, he sits in the corner, pulling his notebook out of his satchel and starting to make notes on the essay he was assigned a few days ago. The café’s empty, being still reasonably early morning, and a few people come and go, but no-one sits down. Lovino’s absorbed in making his notes, perfectly satisfied with being alone, and he doesn’t really notice anyone.

It’s then that his morning takes a turn for the worse.

Lovino is concentrating on his notebook when someone sits down opposite him, and he looks up to find less-than-desired company.

The man now sitting opposite him is wearing well-fitted clothes that look designer-brand, and his mid-brown hair is styled and perfectly in place despite the windy day. His nails are manicured where they tap on the table, and his eyeliner actually compliments his angular green eyes quite well.

Lovino envies how well he makes his whole look work – but it becomes clear that he’s not just there so Lovino can take notes.

He’s specifically sat down at the only table in the café with someone else on it, and as Lovino looks quizzically at him he grins predatorily and his eyes travel hungrily up and down Lovino, making him feel vaguely molested. He crosses his legs subconsciously.

Then the guy speaks in a nasal drawl, once he’s sure he has Lovino’s attention.

“Hey darling, noticed you looked a little lonely, so I thought I’d fix it.”

Lovino scowls. Dammit, he’d almost liked this guy.

He hates being hit on by people he doesn’t know, especially people who assume his orientation because of the way he looks. Not that he’s entirely straight – he is bisexual, after all. But he hates anyone assuming things about him, especially people who’ve taken one look at him.

And he hates people who call him “darling”.

He looks over to the cashier, who gives him an apologetic look as she tries to fix his coffee as fast as possible.

This guy’s a regular then.

Lovino sighs, and answers the question, hearing his Nonna in the back of his head telling him not to be rude.

“I wasn’t lonely, actually.”

Oh god, he shouldn’t have done that. The guy leans forward, taking Lovino’s greeting as a challenge, and Lovino leans back, physically repulsed.

“So you’ve got someone? Well, let me just see if I can’t convince you to stray a little.”

Lovino panics and answers with the first thing that comes to mind, no matter that it’s not true.

“Yes, I do have someone actually, and I’m not planning to do any _straying_ …”

The guy just grins, leaning on the table with one elbow.

“Really? Could have fooled me, pretty little thing like you, you must be flighty and hard to pin down. Methinks you need someone strong and dependable to take care of you.”

The guy raises an eyebrow suggestively, and Lovino feels bile rise in the back of his throat. He decides to drop some stronger hints.

“No, I really don’t, now could you please fuck off?”

The guys _laughs,_ and that’s when Lovino knows that this is a true Asshole, capitalisation necessary.

“Oh, playing hard to get? That’s cute.”

Lovino’s heart starts racing, because the Asshole is quite heavyset and tall, he probably didn’t have much of a chance against him in a fight if the guy wanted to take advantage. He wishes the ground would just swallow him up right about now – and failing that, he wishes he’d just rolled over and gone back to sleep this morning instead of getting up and trying to get some work done, because clearly the world doesn’t really want that happening.

Just as he tries to think up an answer that won’t cause Asshole to get violent, the door opens and lets in the wind from outside, blowing everything around wildly for a moment before the person who’d opened it steps inside and closes it.

The person turns, shoving the hood of his jacket off and ruffling his pale hair, and Lovino jumps when he realises that the person is Gilbert.

He immediately feels comforted, and wonders why.

He and Gilbert haven’t talked recently – unless you count sticky notes – but Lovino feels like there’s been something of an understanding between them lately, and while he wouldn’t consider Gilbert a friend – anymore – he’s hoping that he’s enough of one to help him out.

 As he stares over his unwanted visitor’s shoulder, trying to catch his roommates’ eye, Gilbert spots him and grins, giving a little wave and starting to walk over. Lovino sighs in relief.

Then, the Asshole spots Gilbert, and immediately goes on the offensive.

As soon as Gilbert reaches them, the Asshole stands up and measures himself against the white-blonde, who frowns and looks him up and down. He’s only an inch or so taller than Gilbert, but Gilbert doesn’t seem intimidated, even as the guy snarls at him.

“So, you’re the boyfriend, are you?”

Gilbert frowns, then looks around the Asshole at Lovino, who tries to convey everything that’s occurred that morning with just one sour expression and a foul hand gesture. Gilbert’s eyes widen in understanding, and he turns back to the Asshole, managing to get his intimidating red-tinted eyes to make up for the inch of height he lacks.

“Yeah, maybe I am, so maybe you should clear out before I beat your ass for touching my man.”

Lovino puts his head in his hands – out of all the things Gilbert could have said…

 Yet apparently it was the right thing, because the Asshole narrows his eyes and takes a step back. Lovino doesn’t blame him – he wouldn’t want that gaze levelled at him when Gilbert’s angry either.

It only takes another few seconds of staring before the Asshole takes a breath, steps away from Gilbert and turns back to Lovino as though to say something. There isn’t anything though – he just gapes for few seconds before scowling and turning on his heel, striding out of the café, at which everyone inside breathes a sigh of relief.

Gilbert shrugs, looking around the café before gesturing to the chair the Asshole has just vacated as a query of “may I”. Lovino shrugs and waves to it and Gilbert sits down slowly, as though he’s scared Lovino will change his mind. He grins, his hair mussed, and his cheeks and ears pink from the chilled wind outside.

“So, you know that guy?”

Lovino shakes his head, then puts it in his hands.

“Never met him in my life and if I’m lucky, never will again.”

 Gilbert chuckles. “Not with your awesome boyfriend around.” He gestures to himself with a crooked grin, and Lovino blushes, ducking his head.

“I uh… t-thanks for that.”

The words are quiet and don’t want to come out. Lovino isn’t an apologetic person and he doesn’t like thanking people, because that means they’ve done something for him that he couldn’t do himself.

He’s not rude, just reluctant.

Gilbert, though – Gilbert is a smug bastard. As Lovino looks away he leans closer, his grin turning cocky. “Sorry, what was that?”

Lovino scowls. “Look, I’ll buy you a coffee or something to make up for it. Go order what you want, I’ll pay.”

Gilbert shrugs – “Alright, free coffee…” – then he gets up and heads over to the counter. While he’s gone, Lovino looks over his notes, and it’s only when Gilbert is standing behind him and looking over his shoulder that he realises and tries to cover them.

“Roman architecture, huh?”

Gilbert licks a dollop of cream off his spoon as he sits down opposite Lovino again, placing Lovino’s long forgotten cappuccino in front of him and putting his head on his hand. He makes a little wave with the other to let Lovino know he’s still listening for an explanation, and Lovino sighs, sips his own coffee and explains, not even knowing why he’s bothering telling Gilbert this. He doesn’t care enough to remember Lovino, why would he care what he’s studying?

“We’re supposed to research an aspect of ancient architecture and write an essay explaining how it has influenced modern design.”

Gilbert frowns, ripping open a sachet of sugar from the little bowl on their table and pouring it into his coffee. “I don’t see any research books…”

Lovino shrugs, looking away and doodling idly in the corner of his paper. “I don’t need them, I already know most of what I need to know about Roman architecture.”

Gilbert raises his eyebrows. “What, you have to research it at school or something?”

Lovino snorts, picking up his cappuccino. “No, I just always liked learning about it. That’s it. Most of the stuff I learned at school was crap anyway, my grandpa taught me better and his stories were full of shit.”

Gilbert rips open another sachet of sugar, tipping it in and stirring furiously. “Your lecturers must love you, actually knowing your stuff without having to make up half of it.”

Lovino hums, putting his own coffee down and frowning as Gilbert sips his coffee, makes a face, and puts in another sachet of sugar.

“How many fucking sugars are you putting in that thing?”

Gilbert thinks for a second, taking another sip and thinking momentarily before adding another. “Four.”

Lovino grimaces, shivering in disgust. “That’s fucking revolting. The coffee here is already good, why do you need that much sugar in it?”

Gilbert smiles again over the rim of his cup, that strangely crooked smile that was always so particular to him, even as a kid. In any other context it would look predatory, but on Gilbert it just looks oddly playful.

“Four is an awesome amount… Maybe you should have some sugar in yours, it’d sweeten that fiery temperament.”

Lovino sputters incredulously and Gilbert takes a calm sip of his coffee, lips pursed in a smile that he tries to overcome so he can drink and feign nonchalance.

Lovino can’t help but notice that Gilbert hadn’t said that he was sour, or bitter, or angry – he’d said he was fiery. That was different to the rest of the world bar a few people, including Antonio and Feliciano – but they didn’t count, because Feliciano was his brother and Antonio might as well have been family.

Gilbert however… Gilbert was practically a stranger, at the moment. Lovino just didn’t get compliments from strangers. He’s too prickly for that.

Lovino ducks his head and mutters something about “stupid Germans” and “assholes”, sipping his coffee and trying to overcome his blush, but when he looks back up, his eyes are somehow drawn to Gilbert’s lips as he licks cream off his spoon again.

He immediately blinks hard and looks away. He is not looking at that, definitely not. That is not a thing he should be doing.

Gilbert just leans back in his chair, straightening his legs and crossing them at the ankle under the table as he sips his too sweet coffee.

“So, you’re doing architecture, right?”

Lovino scoffs, rolling his eyes. “As though the assignment wasn’t a dead giveaway.”

Gilbert just smiles, shrugs, and sips his coffee again. Lovino realises then that he doesn’t actually know what degree Gilbert is studying – he hadn’t asked, and none of the few things Gilbert leaves around the place hint at what his degree is. Lovino’s curious, all of a sudden.

“So, what are you studying?”

Gilbert sighs and shrugs. “Military Engineering. My parents wanted me to do it, said it would be “wasted potential” if I didn’t.”

Lovino nods slowly, thinking that it suited Gilbert. He remembers back to when Gilbert was a kid and aced all his maths tests, and chuckles a bit when he thinks of how Gilbert wanted to be a knight. He speaks without thinking.

“I guess the whole “knight” thing didn’t work out, so you picked the next best replacement, huh?”

Gilbert freezes, and Lovino realises what he’s said – and that he’s crossed some sort of line with bringing up the past.

Gilbert has a strange mix of shocked and devastated on his face, like he’s been told that his house burned down while he was out today. Then he sighs, rubbing the back of his head.

“You’re really not giving up on that whole “childhood friends” thing, are you?”

Lovino puts down his coffee, frowning across the table at Gilbert, who suddenly looks nervous. Lovino leans in a little bit.

“I’m not giving up on it because I know I’m right. I know it’s you, Gilbert, I knew since you walked into that fucking bar the other week. How many other assholes in this world are unlucky enough to have white hair and not be an albino?”

Gilbert just shrugs, sipping his coffee. “It’s pale-blond, and I don’t know – plenty, probably. Not that they’re as awesome as me but I don’t blame you for getting confused.”

Lovino narrows his eyes.

“And how many assholes have a scar in their eyebrow from where they fell out of that tree when they were seven because they were being an idiot?”

Gilbert flinches, spluttering into his coffee and raising a hand to his eyebrow self-consciously, and Lovino lowers his voice. It’s by no means less dangerous.

“So, what happened to you in the past decade to make you a dick who won’t even acknowledge someone who was your friend, god knows why?”

Gilbert’s expression turns suddenly angry and defensive.

“Hey, you’re the one who told me to “stay out of his way” when he realised I was his roommate!”

Lovino scoffs. “Yeah, because you didn’t exactly make it obvious that you wanted to stay friends! If you do, then maybe I deserve an explanation!”

Gilbert shakes his head. “Lovino, just…”

“Just what, jerk?”

“Just drop it, ok?! I have my reasons, I don’t have to explain anything to you if I don’t want to!”

Lovino splutters indignantly, but Gilbert’s not playing anymore. His grin is gone and his eyes are furious as he stares at Lovino, and Lovino forfeits the staring match by looking down and away, realising that he’s struck a nerve.

This topic seems to be fragile ground, and though Lovino wants to know why Gilbert was being such a dick about this, he also hates confrontation and favours them talking over breaking what little they’ve now got.

So he settles for staring out the window instead.

“Fine, it’s dropped. But I’ve got all morning, and I want to hear an explanation sometime, jerk.”

Gilbert sighs angrily and says nothing, instead opting to stare out the window at the wind that was still buffeting passing pedestrians, one fist clenched on his thigh, the other hand rubbing his chin. Then, slowly, his hands relax and he sighs, closing his eyes.

“Lovino, I…”

Lovino just turns and watches Gilbert intently, waiting for him to continue. Gilbert sighs, opening his eyes.

“Can we start over?”

Lovino frowns. “Oh, so you’re admitting it now? That you were an asshole?”

Gilbert grimaces. “No, I just… I’m sorry about the thing with Antonio the other week, I just panicked, ok.”

“Panicked about what, that I’d make you look bad? Am I an embarrassment to you or something?”

Gilbert just sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Lovino speaks.

“Normal friends would be happy to see each other, but not you. You were the one who left me behind and I’m the one who should be mad about you wanting to come back into my life. So what’s your problem?”

Gilbert shakes his head. “I don’t wanna talk about it, it’s complicated and you don’t need to know, and… I’m sorry, ok? Can we just forget about it and move on?”

He holds his hand out over the table.

“Do over?”

Lovino frowns at the offered hand.

He doesn’t like the fact that Gilbert doesn’t want to talk about what happened the other week, or about the last several years, because he feels like Gilbert’s treating him like a little kid who wouldn’t understand.

But there’s something else as well, something that he doesn’t want to say, and Lovino understands that very well. He’s an expert at bottling up emotions until they overflow, often violently, and though he knows it’s a problem that he should be working on, he also understands if Gilbert wants to do the same thing. He supposes he can let it slide… for now.

Slowly, he reaches his own hand out to shake Gilbert’s.

“Fine, do over.”

Gilbert grins, and he looks so relieved that Lovino can’t be too mad at him for what he’s asking, despite it being ridiculous.

“You’re not forgiven though, I’m just letting you off the hook for now. I still want an explanation one day.”

Gilbert shrugs, waving his hand noncommittally.

“Maybe. But… let’s start over first. Hi Lovino, I’m Gilbert.”

Lovino raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Hi asshole, I’m your new roommate.”

Gilbert just grins, letting go of Lovino’s hand and settling back in his chair. There’s a few moments of silence where neither of them really know what to say.

There’s a lot that just happened, and Lovino’s having a hard enough time figuring out where Gilbert’s head is at.

But he doesn’t have to worry about it too long, because Gilbert changes the subject.

“So, you think this is decent coffee, huh?”

Lovino frowns at the sudden shift, then shrugs noncommittally. “Yeah, it’s ok… why?”

Gilbert smiles cheekily. “So how does mine compare?”

Lovino is glad for the steer back onto safe ground, and he smirks, an uncommon expression for him but one that is nonetheless appropriate. “What, you mean the “coffee” you left me the other day? I didn’t even realise that that’s what it was, it was so shit.”

Gilbert feigns hurt, but his eyes give him away. “What, my magnificent espresso?”

Lovino laughs at that. “Oh, is that what it was meant to be? I thought you’d just added some water to dried up shit and called it a masterpiece.”

“Well, why don’t you show me how it’s done, Mister Italian Chef extraordinaire who cooked soggy French toast?”

Lovino smiles behind his coffee. “It was soggy because you microwaved it, idiot. Also, it’s French, I can’t cook silly French shit perfectly. Clean the kitchen and then maybe I’ll show you how to do something Italian.”

“Hey, it was soggy before I put it in the microwave! Plus I already cleaned the living room, and I don’t even use the kitchen!” Gilbert bristles indignantly, but Lovino can see him smiling.

“But you did such an “awesome job” that I thought you liked cleaning things?”

“Yeah, but I’m not cleaning up a mess I didn’t even help make! You wouldn’t even know if I had made a mess because it’d be so clean afterwards, that’s how awesome I am. Not like you and the flour you leave all over the kitchen bench.”

Lovino snickers. He’d done that just to get a rise out of his silent roommate who apparently liked cleanliness, he was secretly glad it had worked. Stupid Germans.

“Ah, so you _do_ check the kitchen, you obsessive neat freak! And by the time I’m through with “showing you how it’s done” you’ll feel so intimidated that you’ll never set foot in there again, I bet.”

“Or you’ll be so intimidated by my awesome cleaning skills that you’ll never want to make a mess ever again!”

Lovino scoffs, but there’s no malice in it, and he goes to take another sip of his rapidly cooling cappuccino, only to realise that his cup is empty.

Gilbert smiles. “See, you and your stupidly tiny Italian-size coffees.”

“It’s better than your huge bucketful of shit.”

“Well, it’s not the only thing of mine that’s huge.”

He leans forward on one arm and waggles his eyebrows like an absolute idiot, and Lovino has to put down his empty cup so he can lean over the table and punch him in the arm. Gilbert laughs, rubbing his bicep as though Lovino had actually hurt him.

“Hey, you set yourself up for that one.”

“I did not, you’re just a jerk!”

“I’m awesome, don’t even lie.”

Lovino just huffs in response, and they lapse into a comfortable silence where they both stare out the window, watching the pedestrians still being blown about by the wind. Gilbert takes a long drink of his coffee, and Lovino makes a note on his notepad, checking his phone quickly for the time and startling himself when he realises his next class is in fifteen minutes.

“Shit, I’ve got to go.”

“What, you got a class?”

“Yeah.”

Gilbert looks a little put out as Lovino rises and packs away his stuff in his satchel, but as Lovino swings it around his shoulder, digs through it for coffee money and places it on the table in front of Gilbert, Gilbert also stands.

“I don’t have a lecture until twelve, I’ll walk you there if you want.”

Lovino looks at him for a second, wondering why he would bother to cross campus and back when all of his classes are around here anyway, but then he shrugs and scoops up the small pile of notes and coins to give to the cashier.

“Suit yourself. If you start complaining that it’s too far away though, I’ll be pissed.”

Gilbert gives a soft chuckle and Lovino pays the cashier – who winks at him as she gives him the change and blows him a kiss as he walks away, he was pleased to note – and walks through the door that Gilbert’s holding open for him.

The walk itself wasn’t bad – conversation was comfortable, just small talk about lecturers and classes and the small annoyance of the construction work that makes the walk a whole two minutes longer. Around halfway there, Gilbert’s hand brushes against Lovino’s as he leans closer and tries to show him something on his phone, and Lovino is confused by a sudden surge of disappointment he feels when Gilbert moves away and they resume the walk.

When they finally reach the building that Lovino’s class is in, they turn to each other and say an awkward goodbye, unsure of what to do. Gilbert just sort of sways back and forth on his feet as though he was about to go for a hug and thought better of it, and Lovino pulls his hand back from the awkward handshake he was about to initiate for some reason, raising it into a wave instead, which is almost as awkward because Gilbert’s only about a yard away, _oh my god why…_

Then Gilbert returns the wave, his jaunty grin back on his face, and turns back the way he’d come, putting his hands in his hoodie pockets and striding away.

Lovino watches his retreating back for a few moments before he realises he’s about to be late and dashes inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gay guy is not meant to be anyone from Hetalia, I just made him up for “Gilbert getting Lovino out of an uncomfortable situation” reasons. Female cashier is meant to be Seychelles, and Belle is Belgium, if those weren’t obvious. Also, I had Lovino’s bullshit class and couldn’t resist making him feel my pain…  
> As always, please tell me if anything doesn’t make sense/needs to be fixed, I’m happy to do so. :)


	4. Technology Lessons

They seem to have actually become friends, after that.

Gilbert doesn’t keep purely to his room anymore, and Lovino does the same, feeling comfortable enough to actually share the shared living room with Gilbert when he’s dicking around on his laptop and Lovino is working with pen and paper. There are two sofas on either side of the coffee table, so they don’t threaten each other’s personal space, and Lovino kind of likes having someone else around.

Lovino still does most of the cooking – if Gilbert does cook anything than it’s generally disgusting-awful-stew or something equally bad – but now and then he finds little baked goods left by Gilbert, and he has to admit that the guy isn’t half bad.

Not that he’d tried them or anything.

But the Sachertorte had looked very delicious, and it’d already had a slice out of it, surely if there was only a tiny bit missing he wouldn’t notice…

But he’d made Gilbert have dinner with him one night to make up for it, because otherwise he knows that he would have had Sauerkraut for the third time that week and that was unacceptable.

They still have separate timetables for classes and run on different schedules, so the only time they’re both at home generally is the evenings. Lovino isn’t often out with people in the evenings, because Belle has other friends and rarely invites him along, but Gilbert isn’t always there, so Lovino assumes he’s made friends quickly.

One night when they’re both home Gilbert walks out of his room distractedly with a small yellow bird on his head, and Lovino has to double take.

“Is that a fucking canary on your head?”

Gilbert freezes, reaching slowly up to his hair and gently picking up the bird, cradling it in his hands as he turns to Lovino, a terrified expression on his face.

“Please don’t tell management…”

It’s a strict no pets policy, and it had been made very clear when they’d arrived – but Gilbert looks so worried that Lovino can’t do anything but shrug and turn back to his notes.

“I don’t give a fuck, as long as it doesn’t shit everywhere.”

Gilbert smiles so widely at that that Lovino has to cover his answering grin with his notepad, and Gilbird starts making many more appearances in the living room.

There are no bird leavings anywhere though, and Lovino has to say that he’s impressed.

It’s one night when they are both home that Lovino, writing the final copy for the essay due the day after next, throws down his pen and rubs furiously at the cramp in his writing hand, hissing when it a stabbing pain lances through it.

Gilbert looks up from his laptop, removing his headphones when he notices the movement in his peripheral vision, careful not to jostle Gilbird on his head as he takes them off.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Lovino just shakes his head and sighs. “Nothing, don’t worry.”

But Gilbert does worry, pausing whatever he’s doing to get up and go over to Lovino, looking at the pad of paper with scrawl that gradually gets messier the further it goes down the page. While Lovino’s handwriting is quite neat, it’s not an incredibly perfect looking final draft, what with the blotches where his cheap pens had leaked or the inky fingerprints where he’d tried to clean them.

Gilbert looks back at Lovino, who’s still rubbing his hand but looking defensive, expecting him to chastise him for not typing it, like every other person ever.

He’s not wrong.

“Why don’t you just type it? It’d be much faster, and the final result would be a lot cleaner. I bet your lecturer would like electronic submission anyway.”

Lovino scowls. “Well, how about you go and type yours up then and leave me alone?”

Gilbert can’t take a hint. “No seriously, there’s computers in the lab in the west – ”

“Yes, alright, I get it, you’re not the first person to tell me about the fucking god-sent computers in the west IT lab!”

Gilbert frowns, looking between the notepad and Lovino again, then raising his eyebrows.

“You can’t type, can you?”

Lovino bristles, immediately defensive. “Of course I can, it’s just that the college computers are shitty and I’m not using a computer that god-knows how many other people have put their disgusting hands on.”

Gilbert smiles. “No, I think it’s just that you can’t type.”

Lovino crosses his arms petulantly. “Fucking so what if I can’t, it’s not a prerequisite for the course.”

Gilbert plucks Gilbird off his head and places him gently on the coffee table, then moves back to his laptop, clicking a few things before picking it up and throwing himself down on Lovino’s sofa next to him.

“No, but it’s pretty much expected anyway. So let me help you out.”

Lovino sighs, but lets Gilbert wriggle a little closer so he can show Lovino the screen. There is a blank Word document open, cursor blinking expectedly, and Gilbert spreads his long fingers over the keyboard, at the ready.

“You read, I’ll type it.”

Lovino gives Gilbert a quizzical look where he’s now pressed up against his side. “You sure? You seemed to be enjoying doing whatever stupid shit you were doing before, I don’t need your pity.”

Gilbert scoffs.  “This isn’t pity, this is one friend helping another out, what’s wrong with that?”

Lovino pauses. This was something old Gilbert would do – dive in on his white horse to save the day in whatever way he could. Despite his outwardly asshole-ish demeanour, Gilbert had used to love the satisfaction that came from getting other people out of sticky situations, especially if that situation involved beating up a bully.

So Lovino shrugs and nods, deciding there was no harm in letting him help.

Besides, his hand _was_ killing him…

“Fine. But only because you want to help so bad.”

Reluctantly, he plucks the notepad up from where he’d thrown it down and starts reading, Gilbert’s fingers starting to clack away at the keys mere moments later.

“The aqueducts of Ancient Rome are one of the most impressive structures of ancient civilisation…”

**

An hour later, Gilbert leaves his laptop with Lovino for a moment to read over what they’ve written, and when he comes back out of his room, Lovino returns the laptop and says that it all looks fine. Gilbert then gets Lovino to log in with his own student email sends it off to Lovino’s lecturer.

When he gets it back three weeks later with a grade of 87%, Lovino inexplicably finds a tub of chocolate gelato with a sticky note saying “congrats” in the freezer.

Because it’s there, and because _someone_ had actually gone to the trouble of finding a proper Italian brand, he eats it, and wonders if this is Gilbert’s way of apologising for still, after weeks, explaining nothing about why he wanted to forget their past.

Lovino’s dying to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I feel like Lovino is quite old fashioned – and therefore, doesn’t really like computers and typing all that much. Therefore, Lovino who can’t type it is.


	5. Cooking Lessons

Lovino comes home one afternoon to a spotless kitchen that smells of lemon scented cleaner and Gilbert waiting patiently for him, leaning against the kitchen counter and wearing that shit-eating grin.

When Lovino puts his satchel down on the kitchen bench and raises his hands in a “why” expression, Gilbert just grins wider.

“You were gonna teach me how to cook, remember?”

Lovino frowns, then remembers the conversation of several weeks prior, when Gilbert had saved him from Asshole.

He smiles just a tiny bit. “Are you ready to get your ass handed to you while you cry over how shitty you are at cooking?”

Gilbert grins. “I’m ready to show you how awesome I am at cooking, that’s what.”

Gilbert insists on making something Italian, and they both settle on lasagne, which would be annoyingly cliché if Lovino didn’t like it as much as Gilbert apparently did. He takes ten minutes to make a list of stuff they’ll need – “Can’t you just make it from scratch?” “Yeah, let me slaughter this handy fucking cow for some ground beef” – and put some tomatoes in hot water to soak, and then they head out to the small grocery store a few blocks away. Gilbert’s got his own recipe that he found online, but Lovino decides that it’s not worth bothering with and tells him to put it away as soon as he starts offering suggestions.

“But it says we need tomato paste – ”

“No we don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Which one out of the two of us is the expert on this, jerkface?”

They eventually drag a highly debated bag of ingredients back to the apartment, where Lovino quickly plucks Gilbert’s phone from his hands and slides it down the end of the counter.

“You already had your fun, I’m not going to have you arguing with me over everything else,” he says to Gilbert’s protests, but lets the pale-haired idiot grab it and slip it back into his pocket anyway.

He’s slightly proud when it doesn’t come out for the rest of the night, even when the message alert tone sounds several times.

First, Lovino makes coffee – “I need it so I can deal with your shit” “It’s not as awesome as mine,” “Your tastebuds are just broken after all that sugar” – and then makes lasagne from scratch like he has done dozens of times at home with his Nonna. He puts the dough together and gets Gilbert to help roll it out and cook it until it’s al dente– “Is egg and flour really all that goes into it?” “Yeah, what did you think it was made of?” “I don’t know, Italian hopes and dreams or something”.

The sauce is next, and Lovino peels the soaked tomatoes quickly with the ease that comes from practise while he gets Gilbert to brown garlic in oil and then takes it out and adds everything else to make the sauce – “Why don’t you just leave the garlic in there?” “Because I want a hint of it, not enough to kill several vampires or whatever the fuck. Probably wouldn’t matter with your tastebuds though.”

Lovino spreads the cheese over the sauce and lays down the pasta sheets while Gilbert spreads and smooths it with the back of a spoon, and then they spend the time it takes to cook cleaning the kitchen, because Gilbert insists.

Gilbert’s wiping down the counter when Lovino declares the lasagne as done, and after it’s extracted from the oven and cut into slices, Lovino feeds Gilbert little bites, one hand brandishing the fork and the other holding his jaw between finger and thumb.

At this point Gilbert doesn’t even question why he can’t use his own. He’s learned the hard way that in his kitchen, Lovino is always right and shouldn’t be argued with.

Well, Gilbert could use his own fork… but Lovino is strangely captivated by the little pink tongue that comes out to try and capture the inevitable string of mozzarella that follows the fork away from his mouth.

After they’ve eaten about three quarters of the thing between them, the leftovers are put in the fridge – “I told you I hate leftovers” “Yeah but I don’t, and that lasagne was part mine and therefore awesome, you’re not throwing it out” – Gilbert declares that he’s going to prove to Lovino that he’s not all helpless and busies himself making some sort of German cupcakes.

The kitchen is soon filled with the scent of honey and cinnamon, and Lovino’s mouth is watering by the time the Prussian Honey Cakes leave the oven and Gilbert forgoes a fork to feed him bits of spiced cake with his fingers. They weren’t too bad actually, the cakes, not Gilbert’s fingers, although if he’s honest then the way they’d brush his lips and make the hair on his neck stand up as little sparks run down his spine is quite… interesting.

He’s curious about a few things, though – “So, where did you learn to be… not complete shit at baking?” “When you’re an awesome big brother whose little brother loves to bake but isn’t allowed to use the oven by himself… you pick stuff up pretty quickly.”

Then Gilbert smiles at him and tells him he’s an amazing cook, and Lovino caves and tells him he’s not too bad himself and Gilbert actually ducks his head and _blushes_ and it’s perhaps the cutest thing he’s seen him do… and it’s then that Lovino realises he’s falling for this idiot.

This idiot who used to know him as a kid but doesn’t want to remember, is almost a completely different person now but somehow still wants to be friends with Lovino, which is a rare thing, and Lovino suddenly realises that all he wants to do is kiss him until those uniquely-coloured eyes slide closed and Lovino feels his fingers lace into his hair and pull him close.

Fuck. That’s not good.

Once the kitchen is cleaned one final time and they both go to bed – it’s almost eleven by the time they’re done – Lovino tosses and turns the whole night, with no idea what to do about this sudden, stupid crush of his. The next morning, when Gilbert enters the kitchen after Lovino and turns on the coffee machine, his hair is dishevelled and his eyes are bleary and his smile is all sleepy and warm as he mutters “good morning, L’vino”, and it’s so goddamn _domestic_ that Lovino flushes completely red, grabs his unbuttered toast and almost forgets his satchel on the way out the door.

His first class isn’t for another hour, but his head is so full of fuck that he walks around the entire campus before he can figure out what to do about everything.

If there’s one thing he’s terrible at, it’s confrontation, and to him, falling for one’s childhood-friend-cum-roommate and actually _telling_ him about it counts as a confrontation. There are so many reasons why the whole thing is a most extremely _bad_ idea, and most of them have to do with the fact that despite how… not terrible he’d been to Lovino lately, Gilbert still hasn’t told him anything about the last decade or so and seems to want to forget about it, and Lovino feels like he just doesn’t trust him enough to share – and it’s frustrating. Not to mention that from what he could tell, Gilbert wasn’t even the slightest bit gay. There was no chance that any of it would go anywhere if Lovino made a move, and he hates making first moves anyway.

So he just tries his best to ignore his feelings for Gilbert. This stupid crush will go away if he doesn’t pay attention to it, right?

…right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have not actually made Prussian Honey Cakes but they sound delicious. :P  
> Edit: Both me and a friend have made Prussian Honey Cakes, and they are in fact delicious.


	6. A Rude Awakening

The moaning is getting to him.

The moaning, and the banging, and _goddammit isn’t there supposed to be some sort of rule against that in this establishment for Christ’s sake_

Just as Lovino wonders if he’s the only one who objects to the ridiculously loud sex on the other side of the stupidly thin wall in apartment 4B, he hears Gilbert’s mattress squeak as he gets up and bangs his door open in the other room. He hears stomping footsteps down the hall past his room, passing into the shared living room, and then he hears Gilbert’s voice.

“For fuck’s sake, keep it down in there,” his room-mate yells, thumping a fist on the wall, and Lovino feels a sudden rush of gratitude – Gilbert will take care of it, he doesn’t have to leave the comfort of his bed. He’s sure they must have heard Gilbert’s fist, because he can feel his own wall shaking with the force of the thumping, and he rolls over and prepares to go back to sleep.

The pair – or however many there were – didn’t seem to care however, as the moaning continues and the din rises to include the slamming of a bedframe against the wall.

Lovino growls, getting up out of bed and throwing on a t-shirt and slacks – because he sure as hell isn’t letting Gilbert ogle him mostly-naked, for several reasons – and then storming out into the shared room, where Gilbert is still standing at the wall, dressed in a pair of loose cotton pants and… no shirt…

Lovino’s mouth is suddenly very dry.

Gilbert had only ever been fully clothed in their apartment, or at least he had when Lovino had seen him, so he’d had no idea up til now what Gilbert looked like under well-worn t-shirts and baggy, ripped jeans.

Now he knows.

Gilbert is well built, with a body that seemed to have no fat left on it – everything on him seemed to be either bone or wiry muscle. There’s a dusting of freckles across his reasonably broad shoulders, a small tattoo of an eagle crest on one shoulder-blade, and way, _way_ too many scars to be normal, all over his torso, where did they all come from?

Lovino is contemplating that as Gilbert twists to bang his fist harder on the wall, and Lovino’s breath hitches as the pants slip a little lower and reveal _a V-line are you fucking kidding me_ and he had to stop this line of thought quickly, goddamn it.

“Are you fucking listening, you animals?”

Lovino sighs, trying to hide the fact that his breath and hands are suddenly shaky. “No, but they’re fucking alright.”

Gilbert turns quickly, eyes wide in surprise having not heard him come in, and gives him a half-hearted smile. “Good one.”

They both take a moment to stare at the wall the noises were emanating from, wondering how long the pair next door could last.

_I hope you’re an absolute disappointment and she leaves you in the morning,_ Lovino thinks bitterly. However, it doesn’t seem to be the case.

Then Gilbert gives that shit eating grin that is so characteristic of him, pressing himself up against the wall and making to yell something else.

Lovino gets the shock of his life when instead Gilbert loudly moans Lovino’s name, face contorted into something obscene.

“Oh, god Lovino, harder please…”

Lovino blushes so violently it was a wonder there was any blood left anywhere else but his face, storming over to Gilbert and pulling him away from the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

Gilbert merely grins. “Competing.”

“It isn’t a fucking competition, you dickwad – ”

“But it will be.”

Lovino tries to not read anything into that, he especially tries not to read anything into the look Gilbert seems to give him that suggests more than he’s said, but Lovino’s momentary silence allows Gilbert to start up again.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good inside me, faster, oh god…”

Alright, now it’s kind of funny. The faces and sounds Gilbert is making are taken straight out of a terrible, low-budget porno, and lo and behold, the noises next door seem to pause momentarily.

_Fuck it,_ Lovino thinks. He might have lost it. He might regret this in the morning when people were accusing them of noise pollution. But for now, Gilbert is giggling silently at his own joke and his eyes are alight with something that seems to prevent Lovino from just trekking back to his bedroom and hunkering down for the night.

So fuck it. Why not?

“Oh you like that don’t you, you filthy German? Take it like a man, you little bitch…”

Gilbert’s face practically lights up, and Lovino knows that the game had begun.

“Yes… oh yes, Lovino…”

Gilbert’s fist meets the wall again, this time thumping with a rhythm to it, and Lovino has to bite his lip to stop from absolutely losing it as Gilbert lets out a bunch of moans that sounded so ridiculously fake they're more like disappointed sighs.

“Is that all it takes to get you screaming? You Germans must be worse in bed than I thought. If I – ”

_If I were actually fucking you I’d make you scream much harder than that._

The thought comes unbidden, and Lovino swallows hard, cutting himself off with a grunt that’s louder than it has any right to be, trying not to let Gilbert’s fake blissed-out expression and accompanying groan get to him.

Instead, he tries to continue the game.

“God Gilbert, you’re so loud, I hope the neighbours don’t hear how well I’m fucking you.”

He doesn’t care that it doesn’t sound convincing, Gilbert fucking _giggles_ and it’s enough for him.

The noises from the next room have completely stopped, and Gilbert takes this as his cue to end it, making his thumping faster and harder and making his moans gradually grow in volume.

“Fuck yes Lovino, right there, that’s it, OH JESUS IN HEAVEN GOD FUCK YES HOLY SHIIIIIIIIII – ”

He trails off into a scream that would rival an operatic soprano, making possibly the worst orgasm sound Lovino has ever heard - a strangled scream that goes on far too long. Lovino’s in a fit of breathless, silent laughter and Gilbert’s face is bright red from how much he’s trying to not laugh, when finally, a knock comes from the wall.

“Hey, could you guys keep it down in there?”

And Gilbert grins, replying almost immediately, completely calm. “Hey sure man, as long as you return the favour, or else I’ll have to go over there and show you how to do it properly.”

Then the neighbour above them both pitches in, effectively ending all discussion.

“How about you both shut the fuck up or I’ll replace that dick in your ass with this broomstick, I swear to god, now go the fuck to sleep!”

There was a beat before both Lovino and Gilbert burst into gales of laughter that leave them breathless and boneless on the living room floor.

Gilbert, who’s draped himself over the arm of the couch in a position that can’t be good for anyone’s back, has his hand over his eyes, giving little huffs of breathless laughter, and Lovino has curled up on the floor, his stomach actually in pain from laughing.

Finally, Lovino sits up, delirious with laughter, and Gilbert looks back at him, eyes shining with tears of mirth, and they just sit there in silence, staring at each other and breathing hard.

Gilbert clears his throat.

“I guess we’d better do as the man says and get back to bed…”

Lovino giggles, squeezing his eyes shut and almost missing the strangely wistful smile Gilbert gives him that makes his heart do a strange flop.

“As long as I don’t have to hear you make those sounds ever again, sure.”

Lovino means it as a joke, but Gilbert all of a sudden sits up, opens his mouth as though to say something, and Lovino pays rapt attention, waiting for one of the witty comebacks that he’s gotten so used to hearing.

Then, Gilbert appears to think the better of it and closes his mouth again, letting his breath out through his nose.

“Yeah, you won’t,” he finishes lamely, and Lovino wants to ask what he was about to say, but misses his chance as Gilbert jumps up from the couch and strides back to the door of his room.

“G’dnight, Lovi,” he mutters, then closes his bedroom door gently.

Lovino is left staring at the closed door, mind whirling at the fact that Gilbert had used a nickname he hadn’t used for Lovino since he was five – despite apparently wanting to forget their past – and also at the fact that the profile of Gilbert’s face, caught in the light from the streetlight from his window, looked about ready to cry.

Antonio was the only other person who’d ever used that nickname for him, and he’d long since forbidden Antonio from using it because it had reminded him of Gilbert, and Antonio made it feel belittling sometimes.

But when Gilbert said it… despite the fact that he hadn’t used it for at least a decade, it slipped out naturally, and Lovino didn’t feel like he was being talked down to for once. It was a strange feeling.

And Gilbert’s face. That _fucking_ face… what did he think he was doing, making that face? All it did was make Lovino wonder even more what he’d been going to say, and what it was he’d said to make him look so utterly broken. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter just came out of nowhere and demanded to be written, so… sorry about that. I thought it was funny, I don’t know if anyone else will…  
> Couple next door aren't meant to be anyone in particular, so insert your own pairing if you like. I kind of had Turkey in mind for the neighbour above with the broomstick though.


	7. Homecoming

The weeks and months fly by in a haze of late nights, assignments and far too many cups of coffee, and soon Lovino is packing his bags to go home for a few weeks before the second semester starts.

The first semester had ended fairly smoothly, and his exams had actually gone quite well. He definitely isn’t at the top of the class, but neither is he failing, and he even manages to pass the bullshit class of the lecture he’d skipped. He’s actually fairly proud of himself.

That being said, he’s also glad to be spending some time away from Gilbert.

Since Lovino had realised he was crushing badly on his roommate, the idiot seemed to be trying to find as many ways as possible to make him squirm, like sitting pressed up against him on the couch and then making that heartbroken face as soon as he moved away. Or suddenly starting to give him hugs in greeting, and when he was asked about it, telling Lovino he just “wanted him to do that Italian kissy thing.” Lovino had very nearly punched him in the face for that.

He would take it as a sign that Gilbert returned his feelings… except from what he remembered, Gilbert had been a clingy friend as a child too.

So he tries to ignore it as best he can.

The few weeks away from him would be a blessing; maybe then he could start getting over this illogical crush and everything would return to normal for the second semester – or at least as normal as it got between him and a guy who seemed to want to pretend that the last twelve years hadn’t existed.

Gilbert had still explained nothing, and Lovino is starting to think he never would. He’d been trying to find the right moment to bring it up, but it never seemed to come, and Lovino was frustrated with trying to figure out what had been so bad about Gilbert’s high school years that they were completely off limits for conversation.

Oh well. It had to come out sometime.

The short flight home is quick and uneventful, and everyone is glad to see him – his small family unit hadn’t changed at all while he’d been gone, and they pick him up from the airport with smiles and almost too-tight hugs all around. Feliciano, who’s in his last year of high school, is passing with flying colours and looking to enter into an arts degree at Lovino’s college the next year. He’s eager to pick his brother’s brains over dinner about how Lovino is going and how life at college worked.

His priorities are, of course, in all the right places.

“So what are the girls like at college? Are they pretty?”

Lovino tussles his brother’s hair where he stands clutching a trio of wine glasses, and Feliciano wriggles away with a yelp. “Too pretty for you, Feliciano.”

Nonno laughs at that, pouring the carefully selected wine into the glasses as Feliciano holds them steady.

“No girl is too pretty for my boys – some might just need some time to warm up to you is all.”

Feliciano smiles at Nonno, punching Lovino in the arm.

“See? I’m going to date so many girls, you’ll be so jealous Lovino…”

Lovino shoves him with his shoulder before he sits down, smiling just a little bit. “We’ll see about that.”

Nonna, who’d forbidden anyone from helping her in the kitchen, yells from amidst the sound of bubbling pots and a roaring oven.

“No fighting in the dining room boys, don’t make me come in there…”

Nonno just laughs, his voice merry and booming, and Feliciano retreats from Lovino around the dining table, laying out the cutlery while Nonno places the now full wine glasses.

Nonno is the rock of the family. He had met Nonna when they were both in their early twenties and new immigrants, her from a Greek family and he from an Italian, and their romance had always been quiet and companionable. Their only daughter had been the pride of their lives, and when she’d fallen deeply in love and married Lovino and Feliciano’s father, no-one had been happier than Lovino’s grandparents – and when they’d welcomed Lovino into the world a year later, Lovino’s grandparents were absolutely beside themselves with joy.

Likewise, no-one was more devastated when her husband became a fatality in one of the year’s most devastating road accidents.

No-one except for her.

She was pregnant with Feliciano at the time, and in the last few months of the pregnancy, everything fell apart. She was deeply depressed because of the death of her husband, and had been unable to secure enough leave from work to take care of Lovino. Lovino had basically lived with his grandparents for the last few months before Feliciano’s birth, something for which his mother had felt helplessly guilty.

Feliciano’s labour was full of complications – he was upside down, she was weak and underweight, and it was a twelve hour struggle for her to ensure that he was born perfect.

Mere minutes after they placed him in her arms, she closed her eyes and didn’t wake up.

Lovino didn’t remember her much because he had barely been two years old when he lost her. But his grandparents had reprised their role as parents with patience and love, and despite never really talking about their daughter in front of the boys – the memory was too painful – they had never been anything but supportive of them.

Well, mostly.

“It is a pity Feliciano wants to waste his life on paint… but Lovino, you will be the one in the job that pays, so it will work out alright in the end, I think,” Nonno laughs as he sips his wine.

Nonna appears from the kitchen to smack him on the back of his hand with her seemingly ever-present wooden spoon, scowling.

“It will be fine, because our Feli is a fabulous artist, Gus. When he has pieces in the Louvre you’ll be eating those words with your next plate of moussaka. ”

Nonna is Greek, through and through, and from the start she had tried to get the boys to call her yia-yia rather than Nonna. But after Lovino butchered it into “ear-ear” they decided that Nonna might be the better choice.

She’s a stubborn woman with long, thick black hair tied back under a head cloth, and piercing olive eyes that can pin people like insects to cardboard. She’d been quite the beauty in her youth – and still was, her husband insisted – and her relationship with Augustus Vargas, who’d had a reputation as the town scumbag, had caused quite the stir at the time. He often refers to her as the light of his life, and though she takes none of his shit, Lovino can’t remember them ever having had a genuine argument while he’d lived under their roof. Disagreements, yes – but they talked out their problems too much to have any major misunderstandings.

Nonna returns to her bubbling pots on the stove, talking over her shoulder.

“We were thinking you could ask to room with Feliciano next year Lovino, it would save you having to live with that grumpy German you told us about.”

Lovino splutters into his wine, forcing himself to swallow it before he speaks. He’d forgotten that last time he’d called home, he’d told them he hated Gilbert… which had been true at the time.

“Yeah, I uh… I’d have to see what would happen, I mean how that works, because I don’t know anyone else who rooms with siblings, uh...”

He quickly takes another gulp of his wine, earning him a strange look from Feliciano but nods from everyone else.

They don’t talk about Gilbert the whole rest of the meal, despite almost every other facet of Lovino’s life of the past few months being discussed in heavy detail. Lovino was quietly relieved – although Feliciano seemed unable to let it lie.

As soon as Belle is brought up, he inquires as to whether Lovino plans to date her, and when he replies that she is just a friend he smirks and completely fails at looking innocent, earning an acid glare from Lovino.

When they finish the meal, Nonno stretches his arms and nonchalantly tells both the boys that they have been landed with dish washing duty, making both of them groan and Feliciano collapse dramatically face forward on the table. Nonno just ignores all protests and wraps an arm around his wife’s waist, steering her into the living room as he gives Feliciano a knowing wink and a nod in Lovino’s direction. Feliciano nods back, winking much less discreetly, and when he insists that he’d wash and Lovino should dry, he knows something is up.

Feliciano hates washing.

“So, Lovino…”

Lovino hums, querying, and Feliciano continues.

“If you’re not dating Belle, is there anyone else you were… looking at? Another friend, maybe?”  

Lovino grunts in response, shelfing a pile of plates.

“No, but if there was then why would I tell you?”

Feliciano huffs indignantly.

“Because I’m your brother Lovino, you’re supposed to trust me. And I really want to know.”

Lovino just shrugs, and Feliciano, never one for subtlety, makes a tsk noise and gets straight to the point.

“You like Gilbert, don’t you?”

Lovino chokes on nothing and almost delivers his plates onto the floor, spluttering. As Feliciano just stands there and smiles patiently at him, the little shit, he swallows and tries to recover quickly.

“I… he’s not that much of a jerk once you get to know him, I don’t mind him being around as much as I said I did…”

Feliciano rolls his eyes.

“No, you like _like_ him, don’t you? You want to kiss him and cuddle him and take him on romantic evening walks down by the beach and then maybe have sex on the beach and – ”

Feliciano is waving his hands emphatically, spreading soap suds all over the kitchen, and Lovino clamps a hand over Feliciano’s mouth when he realises their grandparents can probably hear from the next room, receiving a soapy hand to the face for his trouble.

“Shut up you idiot! Of course I don’t!”

Feliciano licks Lovino’s hand, causing the older brother to yelp and pull it away quickly, wiping it on his shirt.

“What are you, five?”

Feliciano just grins, wiping his mouth. Lovino huffs indignantly, blushing a little.

“A-and anyway, I’m not gay. And neither is Gilbert, actually.”

Feliciano gives a sly little smile, turning back to his dishes.

“Sure, sure, of course you’re not. Those magazines under your bed with men _and_ women in them were just so you could appreciate the wallpaper in the background, I’m sure.”

Lovino just stares, heart plummeting into his feet. Feliciano turns and smiles at him.

“I’ve known you were bi since you were twelve, Lovi, I was just letting you take your own time to tell me.”

Lovino stutters, trying to start a few different sentences – “What were you doing in my room”, “why didn’t you tell me you knew”, “Do our grandparents know” – but his mouth can’t decide on which one to say, and Feliciano just places a wet and soapy hand on his brother’s shoulder in a way that’s meant to be reassuring. “Oh, and by the way, Nonno and Nonna know, and we all just think you should just ask him out and get on with it.”

Lovino sighs and slumps in defeat, feeling a bit undermined. He was going to tell them about his sexual orientation eventually…

But there are other issues apart from that.

“It’s not that simple, Feliciano.”

Feliciano just frowns a little, pouting just the tiniest bit, and Lovino swallows and chooses his words carefully.

“You… you remember when we were little, and there was a family down the road we used to have play dates with? Two brothers?”

Feliciano’s frown deepens, then lightens into a smile when he is struck with the memory. “Oh, yeah! They were German, weren’t they? And the little brother was a year younger than me and he was called Ludwig, and the older brother was a little older than you and he was called… Gilbert…”

Understanding breaks over his idiot little brother’s face, and Lovino sighs as Feliciano’s voice drops in volume until he’s whispering.

Except it’s more of a stage whisper, because Feliciano had never really grasped the concept of “quiet”.

“Is it the same Gilbert?”

Lovino just nods. “It’s the same Gilbert.”

Feliciano looks shocked for all of a few seconds – then he smiles wide, and explodes in a flood of questions.

“That’s great! How is he? Did he miss you? Oh, and how did high school go, did he make any nice friends? Are they at college too? Ooh, what degree is he doing? Does he – ”

Lovino presses a finger to Feliciano’s mouth, halting the stream of questions as the younger brother goes a little cross eyed, then promptly falls quiet. Lovino continues.

“He pretended he didn’t know me, and when I finally got him to admit that he did, he said he didn’t want to talk about it.”

He takes his hand away and Feliciano frowns.

“Why would he do that? That’s weird, you two were really close, I thought he would be happy to see you…”

Lovino shrugs, picking up a few pieces of cutlery and wiping them with his dishcloth.

“I thought so too, but it seems like he doesn’t want to remember me. It’s like he’s embarrassed that he knew me when we were kids.”

Feliciano slowly scrubs a plate, brow furrowed in thought.

“He still wants to be friends though, right?”

“It seems like it…”

Feliciano nods, putting the plate on the drying rack.

“It sounds like there’s something that happened that he doesn’t want to tell you. Maybe he thinks you won’t like him anymore if you knew?”

Lovino frowns, plucking the newly washed plate from the drying rack and wiping it furiously. “What could the idiot have done that would make me hate him? He’s still the same jerk he was twelve years ago, what could he possibly have to hide?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure if you talked to him about everything you could figure something out! Like Nonno and Nonna! Then you could tell him you’re in love with him and everyone would be happy!”

Lovino opens his mouth to reply and tell his brother that no, he isn’t in love with Gilbert, when a tiny objection sounds in the back of his mind and he freezes, ignoring his brother’s quizzical gaze.

Oh god.

He… he _is_ in love with Gilbert, if only just a bit.

As he realises, he wonders how it had taken him so long to notice that it isn’t just a harmless little crush anymore.

He loves his jaunty grin and his ever-changing eyes, and he loves the way he’d talk softly to his pet bird without any of the false bravado he put on around everyone else; he loves his bony hands and the stubble that would graze his cheeks when he hugged him sometimes, and he loves the way he smells and the little tiny smile he has when something pleasantly surprises him – and he loves putting it there.

He’s actually quite in love with Gilbert Beilschmidt, and the knowledge strikes him suddenly like a sledgehammer to the skull.

Lovino takes a while to come back to reality, so lost is he in the quagmire of his feelings for his roommate, and it takes Feliciano waving a hand in front of his face to get him to blink and look at his little brother.

Feliciano – poor, sweet, hopeless Feliciano – just smiles at him.

“You could kiss him and ask questions later.”

Lovino sighs, then makes himself grin a little at his brother, twirling the dishcloth quickly and whipping Feliciano, despite the youngers’ effort to evade the attack. Feliciano lets out a yelp, rubbing the back of his thigh and trying to look hurt.

“That’s why you can’t keep a relationship going Feliciano, you keep pulling that shit.”

Feliciano chuckles. “I just haven’t met the right girl yet – if you were dating Gilbert than at least there’d be less competition!”

Lovino sighs – but he’s smiling just a tiny bit as he goes back to wiping up, and Feliciano smiles quietly back.

“Seriously though, I think Gilbert’s just scared of losing you again. If you told him how you feel, maybe he would realise that you won’t leave him and he’ll tell you about what happened.”

Lovino pauses in his wiping, in thought. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, that does make sense…

But then he shakes his head and grimaces.

 “Or I could tell him how I feel and he could turn into a homophobic jerk and close himself off completely. Besides, he’s the one who left me, I’m the one who should be afraid of him leaving again.”

It might not have been Gilbert’s fault that he’d left, but Lovino just liked having someone to blame. And the first part, well… the first part _is_ true. It was the reason why he hadn’t told Gilbert how he felt yet – because despite saving him from Asshole earlier in the year, he had no idea what Gilbert’s stance on Lovino’s attraction to men would be.

Feliciano gives a knowing grin.

“I don’t think he’s changed that much, and when he was a kid he was really nice – he always used to give me chocolate if he had some when he saw me. I don’t think he’d hate you, Lovi.”

Lovino just sighs and shrugs. Feliciano continues, hands diving back into the sink.

“But if you’re scared, maybe you should just tell him that you’re worried about him, and that you wish he would trust you enough to talk to you. I think you’d be surprised what happens.”

Lovino bites his lip – goddammit, when did he start taking relationship advice from his baby brother – but also nods.

“Maybe. If he’s not a bastard about it and tells me to fuck off like he did last time. But not a word to anyone Feliciano, I don’t want Antonio ringing me the moment I get back asking whether we’ve had sex yet.”

Feliciano just gives that sweet little grin of his, and Lovino knows that if he isn’t dating Gilbert by the end of the year then he’ll never hear the end of it.

And if he is then he’ll never hear the end of it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, “Nonna” is meant to be Ancient Greece. I’m not sure on her characterisation in Hetalia, so I kind of went in my own direction… and I was going to include Seborga, but everytime I slotted him in he felt unnatural so I had to leave him out.  
> This chapter might be a little awkward, because I couldn’t think of a way to naturally work in the backstory of the family easily. So… hope it flows ok, and also that Feliciano and Lovino’s heart to heart makes sense, I’ve honestly edited it too much to be able to tell anymore.


	8. Shortcomings

The atmosphere of the apartment envelopes Lovino like a warm embrace when he returns to it two weeks later, and he finds himself giving a sigh of relief when he sees the worn down carpet and dated furniture and collapses in a heap on the couch.

He loves his family, he really does, but he’d gotten used to his independence in the last few months and had felt a little smothered by them at times during his stay.

But now he smells the familiar combination of lemon-scented cleaner, mothballs from that one cupboard that couldn’t be cleaned and Gilbert’s aftershave, and he wonders why he’d missed that particular combination of smells so much, and when they’d started smelling like home.

He can’t help but notice that the whole place becomes ridiculously clean when he isn’t there to ruin Gilbert’s cleaning regimen – he hadn’t realised that the kitchen tiles were supposed to be that colour, nor had he realised how little furniture there was when their stuff wasn’t strewn everywhere and was instead stacked neatly around the shared living room.

Gilbert himself is nowhere to be seen, but there are the faint sounds of some sort of heavy metal leaking from under his door, which usually indicates that he’s busy. Rather than interrupt him just to say hi, Lovino sits for a few moments, soaking in the feel of the place that had become a second home to him in the past few months.

When he notices that his poor tomatoes in the window-box need watering desperately, he gets up to get a jug of water and notices the documents that are lying out on the kitchen bench.

He sees the official-looking yellow envelope with the crest of the college stamped on it and realises that they must be Gilbert’s grades – so he scans the page next to it quickly out of sheer curiosity, ignoring his better judgement that tells him not to pry.

He’d assumed from the heavy degree Gilbert is taking, plus the fact that he’s a complete whizz at anything Lovino had seen him do – apart from cooking – that his grades are fantastic, and Lovino just checks for selfish reasons to see how his own grades compare.

He’s shocked when he reads the first few lines.

_Mr Beilschmidt,_

_It has come to our attention that there is a subject you are undertaking in which you have not met basic requirements thus far. If you cannot rectify this by the beginning of the upcoming semester, we recommend that you speak to your Head of Study to find alternate pathways._

Lovino’s eyes widen and he frowns.

_Gilbert’s failing something?_

He looks up towards his roommate’s bedroom door, which is still closed in a very unhelpful way.

Lovino is suddenly angry. To himself, a failed class is merely a minor setback – but to Gilbert, it probably represents a lot more. If he failed, he would set a dismal example to his little brother Ludwig, who Lovino remembers as a little kid but who would be about Feliciano’s age by now. If Gilbert failed, he would have to explain to his parents, who’d all but forced him to do the degree in the first place because of his ability. If he failed, he might even be thrown out and have to leave the dorm, and Lovino would lose him again.

He wouldn’t go through that again.

Lovino sets his jaw, grabs the letter and stalks over to Gilbert’s bedroom door. Gilbert isn’t going to fail, no matter what Lovino has to do, and that was that.

He hates confrontations, but carried on the adrenaline of sudden worry and anger, he pounds on Gilbert’s bedroom door and crosses his arms.

“Gilbert, get your sorry ass out here right now.”

Slowly, the music reduces in volume, and he hears the trundle of a desk chair skittering across the floor before the door opens, revealing Lovino’s roommate.

“Oh, Lovino, you’re back already – I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon…”

Lovino’s eyes narrow as he takes in Gilbert’s awful appearance – and though he’s grinning like he normally is, Lovino can tell immediately that the grin has been slapped on hurriedly.

Gilbert’s eyes are redder than usual and underlined with dark circles, his pale hair is straggly and his already pallid skin is sickly looking – Lovino can tell without asking that he hadn’t been eating or sleeping properly.

But there are other issues at hand.

He leans against the open doorway and lifts the letter to eye-level, scowling at the sorry sight before him.

“What the fuck is this?”

Gilbert squints, eyes widening when he realises what Lovino is holding. He looks genuinely panicked and reaches up to grab the letter, and Lovino feels a little bit bad as he holds it up out of his grasp.

Except this isn’t just about Gilbert – he might feel bad for prying, but now that he had, it was his problem too.

“Lovino, give me that…”

Lovino flicks the paper up and out of Gilbert’s grasp, tucking it behind his back.

“No. You’re failing something, Gilbert, why didn’t you – ”

Gilbert stands, glaring with possibly every scrap of menace he has and using his two inch height advantage to great effect as he towers over Lovino. Suddenly, the entirety of that terrifying red-tinted gaze is narrowed at Lovino and he feels absolutely tiny.

But he can’t back down now, so he shoves his foot in the door to make sure it stays open, stands his ground and barely blinks as Gilbert launches into a speech he’d probably been preparing.

“You know what, fine, go ahead – fucking pay me out for failing, I don’t care. Soon you’ll have this flat all to yourself and you won’t have to bother with me anymore. But for now, I just want to mope by myself, without a little shit like you whining at me, so fuck off!”

It cuts deep – but if Gilbert wants a screaming match, then he would get one. Lovino retaliates immediately.

“I would leave you alone, you piece of shit – except that moping isn’t the answer, just like running from your problems isn’t the answer. If you think I want to insult you for this, you’re a real bastard, because I was going to offer to help you lift your stupid grades out of the fucking gutter.”

Gilbert’s eyes flash. “And how could you possibly help? Maybe I don’t need your pity, ever think of that? Maybe I don’t want you feeling sorry for me or pretending like you can help me just so you can see me break down when it doesn’t work. I’m not weak, I don’t need your help!”

Lovino crosses his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. He’s not sure why Gilbert seems to think he’s doing this to make him look bad, when he’s clearly trying to offer help.

He wonders in the back of his mind if it has something to do with what he won’t tell Lovino about the last few years.

“I’m trying to return a fucking favour, you jerk! If I can swallow my pride long enough to accept help from my roommate then so can you!”

“There’s no way you could help with this, don’t pretend like you can – nothing can help with this, Lovino, except perhaps for you to leave me the fuck alone!”

Gilbert looks almost desperate, and Lovino realises that this anger has come from perhaps a week of pent up frustration with no-one to vent to.

He feels almost sorry for Gilbert, but he also didn’t come home to be yelled at for trying to help.

 “If you don’t want my help that badly, then fine! Don’t take it! But if you’re just going to scream at me for trying to help, then maybe I won’t even try to help you, maybe I’ll just request to move dorms away from your sorry ass, since you want me gone so much! Maybe I’ll move out, then you’ll be the one left alone, which is what you so clearly want!”

It’s a bluff, and the way he can feel his hands shake as he says it clearly betrays that it’s a bluff. He’s too attached to move out now.

Gilbert bursts out with the first thing that comes to mind.

“Yeah, maybe you should!”

He immediately claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and worried as Lovino leans close, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah. Maybe I will.”

Lovino makes to leave, removing his foot from the door and slipping back into the hallway, but he’s stopped by a hand on his wrist.

He expects Gilbert to put up more of a fight than that. He expects Gilbert to hurl a parting shot at him, to scream, to punch him maybe. It’s what Lovino would do, if he were that frustrated. It’s what the old Gilbert would have done, almost certainly.

What he doesn’t expect is for Gilbert to collapse in on himself, eyes softening; he doesn’t expect his expression to be suddenly worried as Lovino turns back to him.

“Please don’t move out… I, I just…” He lets go of Lovino’s wrist, puts his hands on his head and turns away from Lovino for a moment. Lovino just waits, hearing a small sniff and realising that Gilbert’s trying to hold back tears that he doesn’t want Lovino to see.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Gilbert’s voice is little more than a whisper, and Lovino almost loses himself in the watery grey-red gaze that comes his way as Gilbert turns back to him. He’s struck dumb by how hurt Gilbert must be if he’s actually letting himself look vulnerable in front of Lovino, and all his rage drains out of him and sinks into the carpet at his feet.

For perhaps the first time, Lovino can clearly see the little boy he’d used to know, and nothing of the guy he’s been sharing a dorm with for the past several months. It’s as though Gilbert’s just tripped and grazed his knee and Lovino is the one holding the bandaid, trying to get him to hold still while he puts it on.

And Lovino wants to help him more than anything in that moment, no matter how he might lash out at the sting of the antiseptic. So he helps in the best way he knows how.

“I’m gonna make some lunch. You’re welcome to come out and talk if you want. If not, you’re getting cold chicken and some salmonella on the side, jerk.”

Lovino is cutting up chicken, onion, and tomatoes he hears the music turn off, he’s folding it with rice in a frypan when he hears the door open, and when he’s serving up paella Gilbert is sitting at one of the stools at the kitchen bench looking very sorry for himself.

Lovino places a plate in front of him, leaning on the bench as Gilbert meekly pulls it towards himself.

“So, what was your plan?”

Gilbert sighs, running a hand through his hair and picking up the fork Lovino gives him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m gonna tell my parents, I don’t know what I’m gonna tell Lud, I just… I don’t know.”

Lovino smiles grimly. “So you were sitting in your room hoping it would all go away, huh?”

Gilbert sighs and grimaces. “It was working until you showed up.”

Lovino hmms, serving up his own plate and putting it down opposite Gilbert. He leans on the counter to eat it.

Gilbert makes a little sound of surprise as he puts a forkful in his mouth, and he swallows his mouthful, eyebrows raised. “You know, this tastes a lot like Toni’s paella…”

Lovino shrugs. “I ate it at his place once and liked it so much I bothered him until he gave me the recipe. It was one of the first things I learned to cook. But don’t try and distract me, this is about you.”

Gilbert shrugs, returning to his plate, and Lovino continues.

Much like his brother, he’s never been one for subtlety, so he tries to tackle the problem head on.

“So what exactly are you failing?”

Gilbert winces, looking up at him with a mouthful of paella and a frown. He swallows thickly. “Why do you need to know?”

Lovino gathers a forkful of rice. “If I’m going to try to help, I need to know what I’m trying to help with first.”

Gilbert sighs, sitting his head on one fist, his elbow next to his plate.

“It’s physics… I don’t even know why I’m doing it, it’s so boring. It’s just recommended, I don’t even think you need it to finish the degree, but it’s too late to drop it and I have to pass it this year so I have enough credit to pass.”

Lovino feels the pain of a bullshit class that was required to pass the degree, and he feels it all too well. Gilbert runs a hand through his hair and continues.

“I can never concentrate long enough in the lectures to take notes or anything, and it’s just… ugh. I end up doodling or tapping my pen the whole time and doing nothing else.”

Lovino nods. He knows that well enough – he had an entire notebook full of bored class doodles. The tapping is new though… and as he looks at Gilbert, he notices that his leg is jerking restlessly where it sits on the footrest of the stool, and that Gilbert doesn’t seem to notice.

“So what didn’t you hand up? Or pass, or whatever.”

“Essay. I can’t write the stupid things. Or it’s not that I can’t, but that they’re so _boring_ and there’s a dozen better things I could be doing, so why should I bother?”

Gilbert eats a forkful of paella with a vengeance, chewing slowly in thought, and Lovino stands up and props a hand on his hip.

“So, what are you gonna do about failing? Do I need to make you write that essay, or…?”

Gilbert shakes his head slowly, swallowing.

“My last chance to pass the stupid subject is the replacement exam this Friday. If I get more than 75% it’ll fix my grade to a basic pass and I can replace the subject with another elective next year.”

Lovino bites his lip in thought. Today was Wednesday, it was possible, he supposed…

He scoops up the last few bits of paella from his plate and chews them quickly, placing his fork down on his now empty plate with an air of finality.

“Ok then, the revision starts now. You’re passing that exam with 75% whether you like it or not.”

Gilbert sits up straighter, looking at Lovino with a worried expression. “Lovi, there’s no way that’s gonna happen, I’ve already come to terms with that. I’ve been revising all morning and I can’t remember anything.”

“Then you haven’t been revising properly.”

Gilbert sighs, putting his head in his hands. “How am I meant to revise then, great wise one?”

Lovino picks up his plate and puts it in the sink, running the water. “What you’re doing isn’t working, so change it. From what I can tell, you’re always restless, right?”

In his peripheral vision, he sees the leg stop twitching.

“Yeah, I guess…?”

Lovino nods, turning back around with an air of finality.

From what he remembered, as a child Gilbert had been diagnosed with ADD. They were never in the same class, so he didn’t know how Gilbert’s teachers had handled it or if they’d handled it at all, but he did have several kids in his class who’d learned better when they moved around. He could think of some things to try.

“How about you go get your textbooks, and we’ll see what we can do.”

**

Over the course of the afternoon, they try several things.

First, Lovino puts on Vivaldi – “Why, it’s so boring” “It’s boosts your ability to study, shut up and trust me” – and then sits Gilbert down at the kitchen bench with the textbook and a pad of paper and tells him to make summary notes.

While he does that, Lovino gets him to tap his feet to the tempo of the Four Seasons, which works better than he thinks – Gilbert sits there for a whole ten minutes and makes half a page of notes on mechanical physics before Lovino finds him doodling on a napkin.

Ok, different strategy.

Next, Lovino sits on the couch reading notes from the textbook – mispronouncing most of the terms – while Gilbert paces with the notepad, which works decently well. Every few minutes Lovino gets him to pace in the opposite direction, and they get an entire page of notes down before Gilbert starts getting distracted by what’s happening in the street outside.

By that point they’d gone through most of the topics briefly, and had come across most of the formulas. Now it was just a matter of remembering them.

By that time it was getting late and Lovino decides to make spaghetti for dinner, so back to the kitchen bench they go, and to put Gilbert’s restless hands to use, Lovino gives him a bunch of cutlery and tells him to make the formulas out of them as he goes down the list. Work = force x distance is simplified into a crude W = F x D in knives and forks and spoons, and after they go through the list a few times and then check Gilbert’s memory, Gilbert remembers each of them near perfectly, surprising himself most of all.

Then, Lovino gets Gilbert to stir the pot while he reads out random terms and gets Gilbert to repeat back the meanings. Again, near perfect.

Vivaldi got turned off in rage a few hours ago, so they sit in silence for about an hour after dinner, heads close together over the page of practise exercises that Gilbert printed off to try, Lovino getting him to tap his hands gently on the bench every time he takes a moment to think.

Lovino would deny it if anyone had asked him, but when Gilbert finishes the exercises and gets 85% of them right, the genuine smile of relief on his face was worth the effort of the entire afternoon.

After that, Gilbert insists that if he tried to revise anymore his head might explode, if he were honest, Lovino agrees – he may not be taking in much information himself, but the formulas and facts are making his head spin.

He was never one for maths or science.

So they take a break and chat for a while, Gilbert asking about his trip home and Lovino complaining about his family’s antics, and then they end up on the couch together, watching movies on Gilbert’s laptop until late, arguing over each other’s taste until they find a few that they agree on.

When Gilbert falls asleep on Lovino’s shoulder, drooling just a tiny bit, Lovino doesn’t disturb him and just sits there. Not because he likes it, not at all, it’s because Gilbert looks like he needs the rest, and Lovino doesn’t want to wake him up if it’s the first time he’s slept in a few days, and he had worked hard that afternoon…

But… it’s also because Gilbert’s face is so peaceful when he’s sleeping – there’s even a tiny smile – and his head is a comforting weight on Lovino’s shoulder, and Lovino just wants to pretend that this is real, even just for one night.

He remembers Feliciano’s advice several hours too late, and resolves to talk to Gilbert tomorrow. He would do it, he swore he wasn’t going to chicken out on this one.

But for now, he’s going to sleep.

So he grabs the blanket that’s kept folded at the end of the couch and pulls it over the both of them, laying back into the couch cushions and drifting off himself after pausing the movie and closing Gilbert’s laptop.

He doesn’t feel Gilbert lay him down gently at two in the morning, bundle him up in the blanket, and kiss him on the forehead before moving into his room, rubbing his back gingerly.

They definitely weren’t built for two people, those couches.

**

Lovino wakes suddenly the next day at the sensation of falling, and gives a choked cry before he rolls off the couch and falls between it and the coffee table, immediately wrapping himself tighter in the blankets when his foot falls out and he feels how cold it is.

He groans quietly, disorientated for a few moments and listening to his sore back and neck complaining before he remembers that oh yeah, he slept on the couch.

A quick peep at his phone, still in his pocket from the night before – oh god he’d slept in his _clothes_ – reveals that it’s nine in the morning, _good thing he didn’t have any classes,_ and he groans when he smells Gilbert’s own special brand of coffee.

It’s really not that bad, but he wants to complain about something, and he can’t really blame Gilbert for his back and neck since it was his fault he hadn’t gone to bed.

“You’re not making it properly, you never do…”

He hears a scoff from the kitchen and then footsteps, walking over to his warm blanket bundle on the floor and unravelling them – “Nooo, it’s cold you jerk” – so that he’s peering up at the unnaturally cheerful Gilbert.

“Good morning, sunshine…”

Gilbert receives a scowl in response.

“Coffee first, pet names later, asshole.”

Gilbert just smiles and gives him a hand to stand up, which Lovino takes, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and muttering about early risers and terrible coffee.

Lovino can’t be bothered to cook anything for breakfast, so he just makes toast and sits quietly while Gilbert hums and finishes making his coffee. He plonks down opposite Lovino and smiles, a cardinal sin at this hour of the morning on a Thursday, when Lovino has been rising at ten every morning for the past few weeks.

“What are you so happy about?” He grumbles, taking a vengeful bite of his toast.

Gilbert just chuckles, slurping his coffee.

“I checked my notes this morning, and I was running through some stuff, and I actually remembered most of it, it was awesome! I am passing this exam so hard tomorrow…”

His leg is jerking again, and he wiggles out a little excited dance before settling down and sipping his coffee.

Lovino is suddenly reminded of his late night promise to himself, looking at childlike Gilbert and his silly smile and the stupid way he’s wriggling around like a kid who got told that Christmas was coming early…

_After the exam_ , he tells himself firmly, fully meaning it. He just doesn’t want to distract Gilbert from his revision, that’s all, not when it’s so important.

He’s definitely not being a coward about it. Definitely not.

Absolutely not at all.

So he eats his toast, helps Gilbert revise, and continues to make excuses to not broach the subject for the next two weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My headcanon Gilbert has a case of adult ADD, and finds it difficult to concentrate on things that don’t interest him (“I sneezed and now I’m bored”, anyone?). He also learns kinaesthetically, which a lot of people mistake for ADD, and learns best through movement. Hence Lovino’s strange coping strategy with helping him revise actually working.  
> (Ugh god when they’re play-fighting they fly onto the page but when they’re actually fighting I can’t make them talk what is up with that I mean seriously Gil why are you so out of character how did this happen to you I’m so sorry)


	9. Results

Gilbert comes home one afternoon a few weeks later, waving a few stapled pages frantically and smiling like he just got given several puppies.

“I got the results!”

Lovino has no idea what that means, but feels a smile tug at the corners of his lips as Gilbert spins happily around the kitchen and leans out of Gilbert’s way as he stirs his pasta sauce.

Then Gilbert puts down the paper and pulls Lovino away from the stove, circling his arms around Lovino’s waist and exerting a considerable amount of upper body strength by picking him up and spinning around once more. Lovino yelps and Gilbert laughs before stumbling and falling backwards onto the tiles of the kitchen, and Lovino's hands fly up to cradle the bastard’s head so he doesn’t get a concussion. Gilbert just laughs, and Lovino is all too aware of the fact that now they’re pressed together and he’s fucking laying on top of Gilbert and Gilbert's arms are around his waist and his hands are around Gilbert's head and his face is _way too close_ …

Lovino pulls himself up and brushes himself off, grumbling. “Bastard, I need some warning before you go pulling stupid stunts like that… and what are you so excited about, anyway?”

Gilbert just lays on the floor a few moments more, smiling breathlessly up at Lovino. Then he too gets up and grabs the paper from the kitchen bench, shoving it in Lovino’s face so close that he can’t even read it.

“77%! That means I pass the class and don’t have to take it again!”

Gilbert throws his hands up in the air, flinging the paper behind him in the vicinity of the coffee table and letting out a whoop that starts a dog barking somewhere over the road.

Lovino gives a rare smile, turning back to his sauce. “Well done, Gilbert.”

Gilbert stops his howling competition with the dog, racing over to Lovino and leaning over his shoulder so he can see his expression.

“What’s this? Is my grumpy Italian actually smiling?”

Lovino turns away, a hand covering his smile as Gilbert grabs his wrist and tries to pull it away.

“Impossible! Holy shit, the world isn’t working properly! You never smile, especially not at me!”

Gilbert gives up on pulling Lovino’s hand away from his face, instead just grabbing the sides of his head in both hands and twisting Lovino around to face him.

Lovino doesn’t miss the way Gilbert’s laughing smile settles and fades just a little bit as he stares from only a few inches away. And he swears that he catches Gilbert’s gaze flickering down to Lovino’s lips for just a second…

Then Lovino’s other hand, still holding the stirring spoon in a death-grip, comes up to wave a spoonful of pasta sauce in Gilbert’s face, breaking the mood.

“Fuck off, you piece of shit, and let me cook my meatballs in peace, dammit!”

Gilbert holds up his hands in defeat and backs away, his usual cocky smile back in place.

“Fine, lower your weapon, I’m leaving!”

He collects his result from where it fell into the shared living room and moves into his bedroom, leaving the door open as he bustles around for a few moments. Then he calls out to Lovino again.

“Hey Lovi, you doing anything tonight?”

Lovino can’t help his heart picking up a little when he hears the words, and he answers tentatively.

“No…”

Gilbert comes to the doorway of his room, pausing and cocking his head and smiling gently where Lovino can only just catch it on the edge of his vision.

“The Engineering department was doing a pub crawl, did you want to come?”

Lovino rolls his eyes and then his head over to Gilbert, so his roommate can get the full effect of his disdain.

“Sure, let me come with you and a bunch of your loser friends just so you can get drunk and brag about how stupid you are.”

Gilbert shrugged off the doorframe, walking slowly over. “Come on Lovi, it’d be fun! I’d love to introduce you to some of the guys I know, I bet they’d love you. I bet I’d get a name for having the most awesome b – roommate ever!”

The recovery is quick, but Lovino hears the slip.

Feels his heart skip a beat.

Goes to say something, but Gilbert is gone, back into his room, calling after himself.

“Anyway, you think about it, get back to me – it starts at eight, so lemme know before then, kay?”

Then he’s gone, and Lovino is left with meatballs that are rapidly burning, wondering if he’d just heard everything right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is just a tiny bridging chapter to segway into the main complication of the last few chapters... but we're definitely nearing the end now. The next few chapters might be a little bit longer to post though, since there's a lot to check and a lot of little loose ends that need to get tied up, and they aren't quite up to scratch yet.


	10. Crawling

He goes.

Of course he fucking goes.

Gilbert comes out of his room about an hour later in skinny jeans and a leather jacket covering the t-shirt that designates him as one of the members of the pub crawl, and that's when Lovino knows he’s going.

Because _fuck_ how do they make jeans that tight and how did Gilbert even get them _on_ , and Lovino must have a secret masochistic streak, because he decides that he’s going to follow Gilbert around all night like some sort of sad, attention seeking lapdog.

Pathetic.

And the way Gilbert’s face lights up when Lovino grudgingly admits that he’ll come is almost worth it when he’s sitting there, three hours later, by himself and nursing a single glass of wine.

Gilbert is nowhere to be seen, which Lovino half expected.

As soon as they’d arrived, Gilbert had been almost attacked by an enthusiastic, loud and very _American_ guy who’d introduced himself hurriedly as Alfred before pulling Gilbert away. Lovino was left alone and with little choice but to go and use the t-shirt Gilbert had given him to get cheap drinks, like he's expected to.

At least the wine isn’t as shitty as last time.

Lovino doesn’t know anyone else there, and while he could just go and make a friend, he can’t be fucked. He'd much prefer to blame Gilbert for dragging him along and then deserting him than find his own solution.

So while he’s sitting at the bar nursing his glass of wine with a quiet frustration thrumming under his skin, he spies a flash of light-coloured hair and a black jacket, and someone sits heavily down next to him, almost throwing themselves down on the barstool. _“Finally”,_ he thinks, turning to give Gilbert an earful.

But the person isn’t Gilbert.

Instead, it’s another guy who’s on the pub crawl, who Lovino has caught flashes of through the crowd and seems to be friends with Gilbert's captor. His messy, cropped blonde hair and striking green eyes pale into insignificance at the sheer ridiculous size of his eyebrows, and Lovino wonders how he’s able to peer past them sombrely into the whisky he’s clutching before he downs what's left of it in a single gulp and signals to the barkeep for a refill.

The guy finally seems to realise that there's someone next to him, and his head sways around to face Lovino, scrutinising him with the intense and yet hazy focus of someone who's had about five too many and doesn't know how to stop.

“You’re not in Engineering.”

Lovino scoffs, taking a sip of his wine and noting the English accent. He decides to be nice, because the guy's just drunk; that doesn't automatically make him an asshole.

“And that was a really shitty greeting."

The guy shrugs and waves a hand, still strangely coherent for one who's clearly smashed.

“Oh don't be like that... I'm Arthur. And I assume from the frog muck you’re drinking that you’re not here to forget something. Crashing the party?”

Lovino chuckles a little at “frog muck” – his wine was Italian, actually – then rolls his eyes and replies.

“Like it’s worth crashing. My roommate forced me to come.”

"Forced" was a bit of a strong word... but Lovino didn't really feel like saying "my roommate who I'm hopelessly infatuated with invited me along and I couldn't say no."

Arthur makes a loud “oh” of recognition at the reference of "roommate", however.

“Oh, you’re that git Gilbert's roommate – Lovino, isn’t it? Alfred and your idiot have one class together and all of a sudden they’re best friends, no secrets between them. It’s a little sickening, actually.”

Arthur takes a drink and Lovino nods, feeling a little apprehensive about how much he knows. “So you've heard enough from somewhere to know my name, what other shit have people told you about me?"

Arthur shrugs. “Apparently you can cook, and you do it well enough that Gilbert will turn down an evening out with Alfred to stay in with you. Although he did say something about drinking, and Alfred can’t hold his liquor to save his life, so I suppose it makes sense to turn him down… especially when Gilbert can drink like that.”

Arthur trails off, turning to face the crowd behind him, and Lovino follows his gaze to where Alfred is gesturing to the tankard of beer in Gilbert's hand and Gilbert smirks and downs half the thing without blinking.

Lovino sighs, taking a sip of his wine.

Why did he think this was a good idea, again?

Arthur chuckles a little. "Oblivious, isn't he?"

Lovino nods slowly before taking in what Arthur had just said. “Wait, what?”

Arthur takes a gulp of his whisky and swallows heavily. “Oh please. If Gilbert didn’t also make a point of bragging about his girlfriend, apparently Alfred would think you two were… you know, shacking up together.”

Lovino hardly notices the insinuation, frozen as he is at the new information.

_Girlfriend?_

In all the months they’d been living together, Lovino had not heard anything about a girlfriend. He hadn’t heard Gilbert make any calls or texts, had heard no mention of her, Gilbert had never even gone on a date with her, as far as he could tell…

This is news to him.

His heart sinks a bit in despair and simultaneously beats too fast with the knowledge that Arthur's onto him, and he swallows, too distracted to care that his entire hand is showing to a guy he's just met.

“H-he’s got a girlfriend?”

Arthur frowns, facing him.

“Of course, hadn’t you heard? Her name’s… Elizabeth or something, I think Alfred said. What, did you think he was on the market?”

Arthur looks him up and down again, giving a little huff of a laugh.

“Poor sod.”

Lovino’s heart beats erratically with a potent mix of hurt, jealousy and anger. He wants to go and punch Gilbert in the face for lying to him – except he hadn’t lied, had he? He just hadn’t told Lovino anything.

Which might as well have been the same thing to his aching heart. But he also wants to punch Arthur in the face for being such a jerk about it.

Hell, he just really wants to punch someone in the face.

"Hey, I don't need your fucking pity, alright? B-besides, who said I was interested in a jerk like him?"

Arthur chuckles, holding up a hand in mock surrender.

“Hey, I'm just the messenger. He is quite the git, but if you did have your eye on him I’d be a bit careful. He’s got himself a bit of a reputation and it doesn’t really seem to indicate that he swings that way.”

Lovino just sips his wine, almost choking on it with how angry he is at Arthur, who is unfortunately just letting everything slip past his lowered guard - or maybe he's just naturally like that - and Gilbert, who is still unhelpfully not present.

"I really don't think that's any of your fucking business. And what's this "reputation", since you're so excited about being a little snitch?"

Arthur sits up a little straighter, sighing. "Well, if you don't know, I suppose I should tell you. Gilbert and I go back several years, maybe you should be informed."

Lovino suspects that smoke is coming out of his ears, and he puts his glass down before it shatters in his too tight grip.

Seriously, fuck everything. He didn't care what Arthur knew now, he just wanted him to shut up about the guy that Lovino had come to care too much about.

""Informed" my ass, I was his best friend as a kid, and if you're about to spout bullshit, I'll know."

Arthur just smirks.

"Oh, so I suppose you know how his girlfriend doesn't like to talk about him? Or how nearly every girl in our year had a story to tell of how he broke their hearts? Or how he and his two idiot friends once got in trouble with the police for vandalism?"

Lovino freezes, realising that Arthur must have known Gilbert during his high school years.

The years that Gilbert won't speak about.

He wonders if he's about to find out why.

When he fails to make an articulate response, Arthur just leans a little closer.

"Then you know about the time he got suspended from school for two months for violence towards another student? Because the poor bloke ended up in hospital?"

Lovino's breath comes a little short, his lungs seeming to deflate.

Arthur continues, waving a hand emphatically in his story telling.

"Awful, it was. Had to get his jaw realigned. Gilbert has quite the left hook, I'm told."

Lovino shakes his head; it seems to be all he can do.

"I... w-what the fuck kind of shit is that? Why the fuck would he attack some guy?"

Arthur just shrugs.

"No-one really knows; but the bloke who got hospitalised told us Gilbert had absolutely no remorse about it. And Gilbert moved schools afterward, so we never got to ask him why he did it."

Arthur leans back over to his own space and sips his drink, oblivious to the bundle of emotions that have exploded in Lovino and left him incoherent. Lovino finds himself barely able to pick up his glass in an attempt to feign normacly while trying to sort out exactly what he's feeling at this information.

He's absolutely furious at Arthur, for one thing.

But Arthur is just in the wrong place with the wrong amount of alcohol in his blood. Because seriously, where did the stories about Gilbert come from if he hadn’t heard them somewhere? Or heaven forbid, seen them happen?

Lovino twitches nervously, seriously considering finding Gilbert, sitting him down and asking him exactly what the fuck this guy was talking about.

A girlfriend, and a "reputation", and a fucking _criminal record_?

And all the while refusing to tell Lovino anything?

Letting Lovino believe that everything was just fine, just how it used to be, that nothing had changed, that nothing was wrong?

And leading him on the whole time?

 Well, maybe not exactly leading him on, but the bastard had no right to look at Lovino the way he did, and trade food with him and buy him stuff and leave him gifts and act so goddamn _domestic_ with him and waltz back into his life after years of absence and expect Lovino to not get attached.

Gilbert had some explaining to do.

Arthur takes another gulp of his whisky – despite his rage, Lovino’s kind of impressed with how he can literally down it like water and still stay semi-coherent – and sways around to grin crookedly at him.

“So, how long have you been in trouble for? A while, I’d guess. You poor sod.”

Arthur was like a dog who’d found a particularly interesting toy; unwilling to let go of it and completely ready to obliviously tear said toy to shreds. He seemed downright gleeful at having figured out Lovino's weakness, and Lovino found himself absolutely unable to lift a finger to throw him off, despite his rage.

He was in too deep for that.

If Lovino had been one for confrontations, he would have tried to break his fingers on Arthur's face several minutes ago. As it was, he was small, and relatively weak, and there was a red tint to Arthur’s cheeks and solidity to his small frame that said maybe he wasn’t as weak a target as he first appeared. So Lovino stayed seated and silent, gritting his teeth and wondering if broken glasses counted under the discount of the pub crawl.

“It always seems to be the way with his lot though, to play around and break hearts without really trying... I'm curious, did you really think he swung that way?"

 _No, but I’d hoped you fucking asshole_ , Lovino thinks, but doesn’t say. He doesn’t say anything, even as Arthur continues, oblivious.

“I’d advise you to get out while you can. It’s not a nice place to be, and his roommate? God, how on earth do you live with the bloke? How on earth have you _survived_ this long?”

Lovino turns to put his glass back on the bar to save getting broken glass in his hand, and it’s at that moment that he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder. He turns to find Gilbert looking down at him with that crooked grin of his, and sighs in relief. Then he remembers that he's angry at him and scowls up at him.

“Hey, Lovino, everything ok?”

Arthur huffs a laugh before Lovino can say anything, taking a swig of his drink.

“Oh yes, everything’s fine, we were just talking about you and your ilk and how god-awful you all seem to be. I was just regaling Lovino with your exploits in high school.”

Gilbert's eyes widen, and he looks between Arthur and Lovino with something like fear. Then, his glare levels at Arthur, and he narrows his eyes with a cold fury.

"What kind of shit have you been spouting, you little fucker?"

Arthur returns Gilbert's gaze, and the stares they give each other are so heated Lovino feels tempted to check for a smoke alarm. A few people around them notice and start pointing. Someone gets out their phone.

Lovino’s heart starts beating a little faster. Oh god, what was this leading to...

“I said,” Arthur growls, eyes narrowed, “that I was just warning your poor roommate what he's in for if he sticks around. You know, black eyes, broken bones, the like."

Gilbert is silent, but his eyes betray just how angry he is. Lovino doesn’t think he’s ever seen Gilbert that furious before, not even when he looked at his mail without asking – he’s so livid that he has to take a moment to unlock his jaw and respond, while the small crowd that’s watching the interaction lets out a collective “ooh” at Arthur’s comment.

Finally, Gilbert gives a humourless smile and takes a step closer to Arthur, narrowing his own eyes and seeming to barely restrain himself from fisting his hands in Arthur’s shirt and throwing him across the bar. His voice is dangerously quiet.

"Spread shit about me all you like, Arthur. Do whatever the fuck you want. But leave Lovino out of this, because he doesn't deserve your shit."

Arthur bristles. "He doesn't deserve yours either, git... yours or your friends."

There's a beat of silence, then Gilbert lets out a laugh that's cold and slightly terrifying.

Then Gilbert delivers the final blow.

“What, you still bitter that Francis turned you down? Maybe you’re just a jealous piece of shit who can’t deal with the fact that he got rejected back when he was a snivelling freshman."

Arthur’s face turns beet red, and Gilbert’s thin smile turns into a wicked grin.

"It's alright, Francis had his reasons - I wouldn't date rodents either."

Arthur doesn't say anything. Instead, the diminutive Englishman turns back to the bar momentarily, grabs his glass and gulps down the whole thing, slamming it down on the counter and standing up, albeit a little unsteadily.

Then, he reels back his fist and punches Gilbert in the face.

Gilbert staggers back, hand flying to his jaw, and Arthur dives after him, screeching something in absolute rage – though what it was, no-one in the bar could tell. Arthur lets fly with his other fist, but Gilbert seems to be waiting for it and immediately wraps his hands around Arthur’s elbow, twisting and causing him to cry out as he follows the twist so his arm doesn’t dislocate. Gilbert grins, triumphant, but Arthur isn’t done, and he throws all of his weight forward and into Gilbert, throwing him off his feet and onto the floor. Gilbert makes heavy, face-first contact with a table on the way down, causing the few girls scattered around it to scream and run for cover, and Lovino winces in sympathy.

The barkeep puts down the glass he’s cleaning and strides out the back to fetch security from where they’re on their smoking break, and there’s a collective gasp from the crowd as Arthur strides over to Gilbert on the floor, his step just a little off kilter. The crowd parts to let the brawlers through and Lovino hurriedly stands, trying to decide whether to intervene or stay back and be thankful that he's not involved.

Arthur dives onto the floor and grabs Gilbert by the jacket again, this time with both hands, lifting him slightly up from the floor and knocking him back down, making Lovino flinch as Gilbert’s head makes a heavy _thunk_ on the floor. He wants to help, he really does, but he has no idea what he’s doing, and so he's just left flinching by the bar whenever Gilbert takes a blow.

Arthur seems to think the fight is over, leaning into Gilbert’s face and starting to yell, this time a little more coherent.

“If you ever fucking bring up that frog bastard in relation to me again, I will personally punch your fucking lights out, so help me you pasty cunt – ”

The fight is not as finished as Arthur thinks. Gilbert’s arms and legs are unrestrained, and his elbow connects with the side of Arthur’s face as one of his knees flies into his side. Arthur is dazed just long enough for Gilbert to push him off and onto his side, so Gilbert gets up onto his knees and dives onto the little Englishman, delivering a solid punch to the face and then going for a stranglehold.

It’s short lived though, because before Arthur can retaliate, the barman and a security guard sweep from behind the bar, clearing the crowd away and pulling Gilbert off of Arthur.

Gilbert lets himself be pulled off as soon as he sees that Arthur is being similarly restrained. “You saw that, he started it, not me!”

The security guard merely grunts. “Come on, you’re outta here. Damn lucky the police weren’t called, kid.”

He and Arthur are both dragged outside, and then the fight is over.

Lovino is left breathless by the bar, getting some downright filthy glares from the remaining occupants of the bar who know that he was with Gilbert and should go and check on him, like Alfred is doing across the room.

"Oh my god guys, did you see that? I gotta go check on him, holy shit..."

But that doesn’t matter, because Lovino’s leaving change – too much of it – on the bar for his drink, and dashing after the too-loud American to the side door where they just threw the pair outside.

He needs to know a few things, and he needs to know them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry this update took so long – real life caught up with me for a bit. Only two more chapters to go though, so there’s that.  
> I wasn’t sure about the wisdom of choosing Arthur as the antagonist here, and I know he seems a bit out of character, but I assure you that picking that character was a long and difficult process and that Arthur was the best fit I could think of...  
> Also, yes, now the revelation of Gilbert's past begins. I hope I made it believable enough...


	11. Finally

Lovino slips out the door and closes it carefully, laying his forehead on it and taking a breath of the chilled autumn air. The alleyway outside the bar is dim and chilly, and there's a slight grime to it that hovers in the air and sticks to his skin, and he shivers a little in his t-shirt and jeans.

To his right he can hear scuffling and voices, and a quick glance reveals Alfred supporting a boneless Arthur as they walk towards the main street. Arthur is wailing something about “never wanting to see that stupid frog or his friends ever again” and Alfred pats his back, insisting that they should “just get him home”.

Lovino makes a quiet "tch" noise through his teeth.

Good riddance, quite honestly.

He turns around to find Gilbert sitting there against the opposite wall with his head cradled in his hands, not seeming to have noticed Lovino yet, and Lovino takes a deep breath before walking down the steps from the door to the alleyway.

Lovino’s shoes enter Gilbert’s vision and Lovino's sad little bundle of a roommate looks up slowly, a faint smile on his face despite the split lip and the slowly appearing black eye – probably from hitting the table face first.

“I sure showed him, didn’t I Lovi?”

Lovino freezes for a moment, because it sounds exactly like something Gilbert would have said when he was nine and had just punched one of seven year old Lovino's tormentors in the nose.

He almost loses his grip on his rage, right then. But though he might feel a bit sorry for Gilbert – he suspects he might even have a mild concussion – he also wants answers.

Answers that he’s not asking for in the middle of a dirty alleyway.

Lovino leans down, crouching in front of Gilbert and grabbing the lapel of his jacket – just to make sure he’s listening more than to threaten him.

“You’ve got a lot of stuff to explain, bastard. We’re going to check you out at the ER to make sure you’re not dying, then we’re going to go home and have a nice long talk.”

Gilbert frowns slightly and then looks horrified, and as Lovino lets go of Gilbert’s shirt, standing up and walking along the alleyway towards the main street, he hears Gilbert scuffle around as he stands up to follow. Moments later, he feels a hand on his wrist, pulling him around to face Gilbert, whose eyes are a little unfocussed, but slowly sharpening to betray worry.

“Lovino, whatever Arthur told you, I swear it's not true, he's just being a shithead - Lovino, wait!"

Lovino scowls and shakes off Gilbert's grip, storming off towards the bus stop at the end of the road. Gilbert tries several times to initiate conversation but is stalled every time by Lovino’s lack of response, and eventually slips into silence himself as they wait for a tense fifteen minutes underneath the bus shelter, both silently cursing the timetable for not being more frequent on a Friday night at ten pm.

Lovino shivers, thin t-shirt not thick enough for the middle of autumn, and within moments he finds a leather jacket wrapped around his shoulders. It’s a little big, but it’s lined and still has warmth from being worn all night by a warm body.

“Take it, you look cold.”

Gilbert’s voice is quiet, defeated, and there’s a hint of frustrated anger behind his gaze. As Lovino looks up at his broken expression, he feels almost bad for ignoring him.

But then he remembers “Elizabeth or something” and another student with a broken jaw, and he’s angry all over again.

The bus comes, eventually, and the twenty minutes it takes to get to their stop is an eternity of trying not to make eye contact and trying not to touch, because every brush of fingers is a question that Lovino won’t answer, not yet, and every glance is an accusation that he’s being unfair, and he’ll lose his nerve if he’s not careful.

But then they’re getting off the bus and striding into the small all-hours medical clinic on the corner of their street. A long-suffering, overworked doctor – Monika, her name badge says – shakes her head and checks Gilbert over, pointing a torch in his eyes to check his pupils and making sure that the lump on the back of his head is just that – a lump – while Lovino stands against the wall of the clinic with his arms folded and his scowl very firmly in place.

Finally, she announces that Gilbert will be fine as long as he goes straight home and rests up, and shoos both of them out of her clinic.

The short walk to their apartment is much like the wait at the bus-stop – nothing is spoken and a quiet anger bubbles between them, driving Lovino’s frustration higher.

Finally, they step into the dorm building, climb the stairs to the second floor and fumble with keys, and then they’re inside, and Lovino flicks on the light switch with one hand while he puts his keys back in his pocket with the other.

But clearly he isn’t the only one who was annoyed by the bus ride and time spent in the clinic, because suddenly Gilbert has his hands on either side of Lovino’s head, pinning him against the door and staring him down from about seven inches away.

"You said you'd talk when we got home, so talk. You meet one guy who's talking shit and all of a sudden I'm a horrible person, is that it?"

Lovino takes a deep breath, forcing himself to keep his voice down, because neighbours.

Maybe he should have done this in the alleyway after all.

“Yeah, because dragging me along to your stupid drinking contest and then running off with your friend is such a nice guy move."

Gilbert looks disgusted, but doesn’t move away.

"You said you'd come, I didn't "drag" you anywhere! What the fuck did Arthur say to you to make you so shitty?"

Lovino glares, arms crossed.

"I'm not the one who has a problem, you're the one who gets into barfights out of fucking nowhere!"

Gilbert scowls. "He's the one who started shit, and it’s not like you liked the guy! Fucking hell Lovino, you're my friend, can't I just get a simple fucking ‘thankyou’ or something?!"

The words worm their way into Lovino’s chest and lodge themselves behind his ribcage.

_You’re my friend._

There were very few people in Lovino’s life who’s ever said that, and this one was particularly important. He hoped that pressing the information out of Gilbert wouldn't make him hate Lovino.

But it had to be done; he had a right to know. He wasn't just going to let it slide this time.

Lovino crosses his arms, a meek defence against Gilbert’s glare.

 “Yeah, thanks. But you know what would be a better favour than beating some guy up?”

Gilbert just narrows his eyes. Lovino’s scowl deepens.

“Telling me what's going on with this girlfriend of yours.”

Gilbert’s eyes widen in understanding, and he jumps back like he’s been burned.

Lovino knows his hand is showing. He knows that a mere friend would not be so angry over not being told about a girlfriend. He knows that he’s vulnerable – if Gilbert wants to, he can crush Lovino with one simple question of “why do you need to know”.

But it doesn’t look like Gilbert’s going to do that. Instead, he just looks terrified.

 “Elizaveta… fuck, what did Arthur tell you?”

Lovino shifts on the door, gritting his teeth and steeling himself for a fight.

"A lot, Gilbert. I respected your decision to be a dick and not tell me anything about what's happened since we were kids, but now? Now there's some shit you need to explain."

He pushes himself off the door, leaning closer, and Gilbert folds in on himself a little.

"What the fuck is this about punching someone in the face unprovoked and _fucking hospitalising them?!_ Did you not think I deserved to _know_ about that? _"_

Gilbert visibly pales, and he puts his head in his hands, swaying a little. Lovino knows he should be settling him down rather than riling him up, considering that they just had him checked out for a concussion, but he still pushes.

“Gilbert, why... what the fuck would make you do that? What could he have possibly said to make you do that? And why didn't you tell me any of this?"

Gilbert shakes his head, his voice muffled as he speaks through his hands.

"Please don't do this..."

It’s odd for Gilbert to beg, which should have told him that he should just let it go. But Lovino just uncrosses his arms, throwing them up in frustration.

"No, I really think I do! I just had a guy I've never met before come up and basically tell me that you're an abusive asshole and I should watch myself, and I'd really like to know what you have to say about it!"

Something seems to break in Gilbert, and he looks up to the roof with a tiny frown before he swallows and glares at Lovino.

In the fluorescent light his ever-changing eyes look almost black.

“Then what if I told you that it was because everything in my life had gone to hell and I was at the end of my fucking rope, would that satisfy you?!"

Lovino jumps a little at Gilbert's sudden change of pace, but Gilbert just snarls and goes on, turning away from Lovino.

"There was probably a better way to deal with it, but I’m just fucking scumbag Gilbert who can’t deal with his problems unless he can punch them in the face, who can’t talk shit out without scrambling the words and saying the wrong thing, who can’t have a relationship without fucking everything up, and…”

He chokes himself off with a harsh bark of a humourless laugh that sounds almost like a sob, and the silence that follows is absolute. Lovino waits silently for him to continue, and Gilbert lets a breath out through his teeth and turns, kicking the edge of the couch and letting out a frustrated growl when he hurts his toe.

"As soon as we moved away, everything fell to shit really fucking fast. My parents took me away from you because I kept beating up people who tried to hurt you and that was "too disruptive" and "not conducive to excelling academically", so they put me in a high school that would "make me use my gifts better" with a grade full of pricks who thought I was some sort of albino freak, and then they wondered why my fucking grades started dropping."

Gilbert's pale skin seems fragile and threatened; made of porcelain under the harsh fluorescent light even as he paces agitatedly along the length of the kitchen counter, and all Lovino can do is stare and listen.

"Lud was ok because he was only little, school didn’t matter much to him then, but grades were one of the only things that mattered for me so they got me a tutor to make me, you know, _not_ fail, but then everyone found out and made my life a living hell, because I was just some dumb fuck who couldn't do anything right; who ended up in the nurse's office more than once because he was trying to be the good guy and was stupid enough to take on Ivan after he was being a scary fuck to some younger kids."

Gilbert pauses for a moment, his back to Lovino, hand on the back of his neck. The words don’t stop though, and Lovino feels like he’s opened a dam, with the pain of the last several years running deep. So he just stands and listens.

"I had Francis and Toni for a while, but they left school two years before I did and then Ludwig went to his exchange in Germany and there was no-one who gave a fuck about me except for Liz, and then... then everything turned to shit."

Gilbert isn't angry anymore; he seems to be collapsing in on himself and losing the head of steam he built up while they were going home. He looks up at Lovino, voice trailing off, but Lovino just stands there and stares, unsure of what to say, and Gilbert looks away and continues, his voice quiet.

"I really liked Liz, I did. But I wasn't good enough, and she... she left me for that Austrian priss, and didn’t want anything to do with me, and it hurt, ok? I still liked her, a lot, and it was just easier for me to tell everyone we were still together then to tell the truth, even when we went to the same college and I just… it was just another thing in the long line of things in my life that fell to absolute shit, ok?"

Gilbert's hands fist at his side and then relax, shakily going to cover his face, and Lovino wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to punch something. But instead, he lets his palms slide from his face and continues, voice soft and defeated.

"I was already forced to deal with the fact that I was failing, after grades became one of the most important things in my life. I was already forced to deal with the fact that maybe I'd never see my best friend ever again, because they never even gave me any contact details."

He fists his hands and then lets them go, and Lovino wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to punch something. But then he sighs a little and continues.

"So when me and Liz broke up, maybe I didn’t want to have to deal with the fact no-one gave a shit about me a little bit longer.”

Gilbert turns his back to Lovino, one hand on the counter and the other dangling at his side, a dead weight hanging from his slumped shoulders.

"But fucking Roderich couldn't keep to himself, not after he stole the last person who gave a shit about me, and that was the last straw. I... I couldn't take it anymore. I had to make him stop smiling that stuck-up, smug little smirk at me every time he walked past me."

Lovino is absolutely silent, and he's breathing, he's sure he is, except he can't seem to get a full breath. He's wanted to know this for so long, and now that he knows, he regrets digging it up. The hurt on Gilbert's face, permeating his entire frame, isn't worth this.

"Three teachers saw me do it, and I was suspended for two months and put into fucking counselling, which did nothing. All I got was some guy telling me I had a lot of pent up rage and should get rid of it."

Gilbert turns to look at Lovino sorrowfully, then tears his gaze away and speaks to the floor, and Lovino doesn't miss the way his voice shakes a little bit.

"I didn't want to get rid of it, I just wanted my best friend back."

Gilbert grimaces and closes his eyes, head lowered and shoulders hunched, as though he's trying to make himself as small as possible.

"My parents ended up moving me to a correctional school two towns over even though the police never really got involved, but two months away from school kinda fucked up my grades even more, and I failed a year. I had to repeat it, and... I was so glad when I finally got out, you have no idea."

There is very little anger left in Gilbert's defeated slump; just a strange sadness uncharacteristic of him that seems to settle gently and grow heavier with each sentence. He looks up at Lovino, then down again quickly, as though Lovino's gaze is physically hurting him.

"And then I ran into you again, and... I thought maybe I'd get what I wanted, that I'd get my friend back. Except no, this is my fucking life we’re talking about, it doesn't work that way, not when everything had gone down the drain so fast for me and you were..."

Gilbert's voice cracks just the tiniest bit at the end of the sentence, and he covers his eyes, biting his lip until he continues with a voice that's barely louder than a whisper.

"...you were so _innocent_ , Lovi, I couldn't let you know how fucked up I was. I couldn't ruin what you thought of me, not you. Not when you were the only one who didn’t know what had happened and thought I still had some good to me. It was better to let you think I'd forgotten than risk you finding out that I… I wasn’t the same guy who left."

Lovino is frozen. He has thoughts running at a thousand miles an hour through his head, sentences that are pushing each other out of the way to be spoken and he can’t say anything. He can’t say or do anything except watch Gilbert as he turns from Lovino, places both his palms on the kitchen bench and hangs his head, his voice quiet.

"And then we were roommates, and you wanted to know... I just wanted you back, Lovi, I just wanted my best friend back, I just wanted to feel needed again, I just wanted to feel like I wasn't a piece of shit anymore. Everything seemed to be going so well, I didn't want to tell you this."

Lovino doesn’t move. He can’t, if he does then the atmosphere between them just might shatter and splinter and cut them both. Gilbert sighs; the way he looks physically drained says more than his words do.

"So now you know, I guess. Go on, scream, cry, leave. It's fine. I wouldn’t want to stick around me either."

The silence is thick and swirls between them like the air has turned to honey; it seems to take effort to blink. Lovino swallows thickly.

He takes a step closer, and the sound of his foot meeting the tiles of the kitchen seem to echo off the walls and dare him to speak.

So he does.

“Gilbert…”

His voice is soft, but Gilbert winces as though it’s stung him. Lovino swallows, continues.

"I'm not leaving. I'm staying so that I can tell you that you're an idiot if you think I'm leaving. I mean, did you ever consider at any point that maybe I just wanted my best friend back, too?”

Gilbert freezes, and his face holds nothing but pure shock when he turns back to Lovino, who takes a shaky breath and continues, the words he’s been meaning to say for months suddenly pouring out of him.

"When we were kids, I... I was always meant to be strong for Feliciano because I was older, but you were the one who was strong for me, and when you left, I…”

Here he pauses, his mouth suddenly dry.

“… I cried for three days straight, you asshole.”

Lovino sniffs, on the verge of tears himself. But he won’t cry, dammit, he won’t cry, because blurting everything out like this is already embarrassing enough and Gilbert is just staring at him and Lovino turns, unable to meet his gaze.

“Goddammit, I missed you Gilbert; I missed you so fucking much that when I was twelve I thought it would kill me… and yeah, maybe I've only known you now for about a year, but it's been long enough to know that you're still the idiot I used to know, no matter what’s happened, and if you think for a fucking second that this changes anything, then you're more stupid than I thought, because I lo - "

He pauses, the words sticking in his throat.

But he doesn’t have to say any more, because he’s cut off by Gilbert pulling him into a hug that’s tighter and more welcoming than any other hug he’s ever had, which is saying something considering he has Feliciano for a brother.

His face presses tightly into Gilbert’s shoulder, and the tears come. The tears come and they don’t stop, and he's not even sure why he's crying but he can feel his own shoulder getting wet where Gilbert is sobbing silently into it, and he realises that both of them are just relieved to finally have everything out in the open, and to know that they aren’t alone anymore.

Lovino feels like he’s twelve years old again, clinging onto his best friend as he’s leaving, begging him not to go; if he holds tight enough then Gilbert won’t have to go.

But there are no parents to pull them apart this time, no kids who tease Lovino for being a loner, no correctional school to try and stop Gilbert from becoming a delinquent.

It’s just them, and the way Gilbert sighs into his neck, leaving something like the ghost of a kiss; or the way Lovino’s fingers tighten a little in his shirt when he does – that’s all that matters now.

As the sobs fade into shaky breaths and the shaky breaths give way to long, even sighs, Gilbert moves his head from Lovino’s shoulder, lifting it up so he can look Lovino in the eye.

"So, nothing changes? Really?"

Lovino gives one of his rare, genuine smiles.

"Of course nothing changes, you idiot. You're just an asshole who doesn't tell me shit even when it's important."

Gilbert absolutely beams, watery eyes the dark colour of spilt red wine, and Lovino can almost taste the intoxication as he drowns in them.

Then, before Lovino can even react, Gilbert leans in and kisses him swiftly.

Something in Lovino's chest flip flops and he swears his heart is about to beat out through his ribcage, but then the kiss is over and before Lovino can do anything Gilbert pulls back, fingers over his lips and eyes wide.

Lovino just gapes.

"Did you just...?"

Gilbert just nods, paling, taking a step backwards.

"I fucked up, didn't I? Oh god Lovi, I'm so sorry, it doesn't have to mean anything, I promise..."

Lovino shakes his head and steps forward, hardly believing this is happening.

"Damn right you better be sorry..."

Gilbert winces.

"...because that was the shittiest kiss I have ever been given, get the fuck back here and let me do it properly."

Gilbert's eyes somehow grow even wider, and then Lovino does what he's wanted to do for months - he grabs a fistful of Gilbert's t-shirt, slips a hand behind his neck and pulls him back in.

It’s tentative – Lovino still isn't 100% sure if that wasn't just Gilbert being overexcited, but then Gilbert makes a noise in the back of his throat and pushes closer, wrapping his arms tightly around Lovino's waist, and he's sure. Fireworks are bursting behind Lovino’s eyelids, crackling down his spine and zapping under his skin where Gilbert’s fingers have settled between the hem of his shirt and waist of his jeans, and the hand he's slipped around Gilbert's neck slides up into his hair.

They part briefly, breath a little ragged, and Gilbert presses his forehead to Lovino's and smiles.

“So I guess that makes us both idiots, huh.”

Lovino stifles a smile and jabs Gilbert in the chest with the hand that had grabbed his shirt.

"Maybe, but you're more of an idiot then me. You're like... the _worst_ idiot."

Gilbert grins and goes to say something back, but pauses, because there's nothing else to say. Nothing that wouldn’t be clumsy and wholly inadequate, and really they’d just prefer to kiss each other instead. So Lovino just pulls Gilbert back in, making a quiet noise of satisfaction when Gilbert tilts his head just so and the kiss deepens.

There’s a gentle push and pull to it – even though it’s something they’ve both been waiting so long to do, it seems, there’s no urgency, just a need to be close.

Lovino raises his hands to Gilbert’s shoulders and pushes him back gently until his lower back meets the kitchen counter, but that’s just so he can stand up on his toes and press a line of gentle kisses down Gilbert's neck and across his jawline. When he moves back in to nip gently at Gilbert’s lower lip and his hands slide up to trace the edges of Gilbert’s face, Gilbert catches one of them, pressing a tiny kiss to his palm, there’s no need to do anything but feel; to discover the way that Gilbert's jaw fits in his hands like it was made to go there.

As soon as he catches himself thinking that he winces internally for being so soppy.

Lovino slips his hands down and up under Gilbert's shirt, but that's just so he can trace his hands over his skin slowly, almost reverently, pausing every time he encounters the dimpled skin of a scar and stroking his thumb over it gently – and there’s so many, he seems to barely move his hand before finding another one. One of Gilbert’s hands slides its way into Lovino’s hair and rubs slowly, and despite usually hating it, Lovino finds that he really doesn’t mind at all.

Gilbert’s other hand is sliding up his back underneath his shirt and the leather jacket that Lovino is still wearing when Lovino remembers that they’re leaning a little precariously against the kitchen bench and Gilbert was meant to be resting to make sure his brain didn’t short circuit – which honestly might have already happened, he looks so confused when Lovino gives a sigh and pulls back, looking up at him.

“You should probably go to bed,” he mutters, stilling Gilbert’s hand under his shirt with his own, looking down and away. Gilbert just smiles that crooked grin, catches his hand and laces their fingers together, then leans down an inch or so and leaves a peck on Lovino’s lips.

“Only if you go with me…”

Lovino blushes, smiling a little crookedly, and lets Gilbert kiss him again, long and slow. Then he finally steps back, turning and pulling the pale-haired idiot with him.

Gilbert immediately wraps onto Lovino, looping his arms around his shoulders and draping over his back, cackling in his ear and making it very difficult to turn the lights off as Lovino waddles across the room and drags his human cargo into Gilbert’s bedroom. He tries to dump Gilbert on the bed, but he doesn’t let go of Lovino’s shoulders, and they end up sprawled there together in a heap in a bed that’s just a tiny bit too small for two people, Gilbert giggling and Lovino complaining half-heartedly about Gilbert's elbows in his sides.

But they make it work.

Lovino pulls up the meticulously made bedsheets – “why do you even bother, you’re just going to make them messy again anyway” “oh you want to make them messy now, do you” "you shut the fuck up, you're drunk and have a head injury" – and pulls them over himself and Gilbert, not even caring that they’re still in their clothes, because as much as he’d like to strip and tangle his legs with Gilbert’s, it’s too damn cold. Instead he settles against Gilbert’s side, head tucked under his chin, leaving feather-light kisses on his neck occasionally - just because he can.

When Gilbert wraps his arms around him, sliding his hands underneath the jacket – Lovino’s still wearing it because it's warm, dammit – he presses a few kisses into Lovino’s hair and on his temple, and Lovino can feel his smile.

“Idiots?” Gilbert mutters softly, breath fluttering through his hair, and Lovino smiles against Gilbert’s neck.

“Idiots,” he agrees, and there isn’t a need for words, after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright, only the epilogue to go – the actual story is complete as is, but I wanted to add a little bookend for it just to make sure everything was cleaned up, so that’s coming soon.  
> Here’s hoping that things don’t go too quickly in this chapter… I knew I wanted this to be the chapter where everything gets explained, but I also wanted to finish it sappily, so I squished all of the things in.  
> I also hope it makes sense - Gilbert's reasons have changed about three times and this is the third draft of this chapter, I can barely tell if it makes sense anymore.


	12. Tis the Season

Lovino is not fond of Christmas.

He’s never been a fan of the cold, not even as a child, and especially not after a five-year-old Feliciano discovered he could make Lovino forfeit every single snow fight by just putting snow down his jumper. He always makes every attempt to avoid winter weather if he can by staying indoors, preferably bundled up in at least four blankets with some sort of baked good.

If he does venture out during the Christmas season, it’s just to go gift shopping – although he normally does it in September to avoid the crowds – or to go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, at Nonna’s insistence.

So when the Christmas season rolls around that year, Lovino is fully prepared to just hibernate through it like he does every year.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t accounted for Gilbert.

Gilbert becomes the goddamn _embodiment_ of Christmas cheer in early November, brandishing tinsel and Christmas lights and making the whole apartment smell like gingerbread. He even starts playing Christmas songs at full volume at stupid hours of the morning, making Lovino get out of bed just to turn them off.

It was impossible to deny Gilbert anything when he was so enthusiastic, though – he’d taken Lovino’s “bah humbug” attitude as a challenge, had anointed himself the “king of Christmas”, and seemed to have some sort of plan to attempt the impossible and make Lovino love the overcommercialised holiday.    

He’d lured Lovino in with the gingerbread and sugar cookies, that bastard, and had used that and a great number of gingerbread flavoured kisses to convince him to help put up and decorate the Christmas tree.

But such a wicked, underhanded tactic? Lovino would not fall for it twice.

No fucking way.

Well… maybe a little.

One chilly, December morning, Lovino finds himself being woken up with gentle, teasing kisses, and by the time he’s awake enough to pull Gilbert into a proper one – morning breath and all – he’s been put into a good enough mood to be open to suggestions.

Gilbert, master tactician that he is, realises this and pulls back a little, grinning.

“Hey Lovi… I love you…”

Lovino, who is feeling the chill of the winter morning – the daily average wasn’t below freezing yet but it was getting there and he didn’t like it – frowns and snuggles closer to Gilbert, tucking himself more firmly against the warm body sharing the bed with him.

“That’s your favour asking voice. It’s too early for favours.”

Gilbert chuckles and wraps his arms more firmly around Lovino’s waist, and Lovino sighs a little, stretching languidly in the embrace. Gilbert hums, tapping his fingers on Lovino’s lower back, on the skin between his sleeping shirt and his boxers.

“Then what do I have to do to get a favour?”

Lovino thinks, raising his head, then yawns and plonks his head back down on Gilbert’s chest.

“I don’t know, something nice. Like breakfast in bed. Then maybe we’ll talk.”

 Gilbert chuckles, shifting and making to get out of bed, making Lovino whine a little as his main source of heat abandons him.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“I’m going to prove that I’m the best boyfriend ever, gimme a sec.”

Lovino snorts, rolling over and forming the blankets into a protective ball around himself.

“You could prove that by coming back and not leaving me in the cold.”

“I thought you wanted breakfast?”

Lovino just makes a sound of annoyance, and from beneath his blanket ball he can hear Gilbert chuckle and pad across the floorboards. He peeks out, catching an eyeful of Gilbert’s red boxers leaving the room as he does so, and then he harumphs and slips back under the blankets, wondering how Gilbert can stand walking around half-naked in the cold and smiling a little to himself as he hears the coffee machine turn on.

Since this whole “relationship” thing had been going, there been surprisingly few things that had changed between them. The morning after the pub crawl and their fight had been somewhat awkward, with neither of them sure exactly what had changed, and both of them had danced around each other for hours until Lovino had just gone “fuck this” and pulled Gilbert into another heated kiss.

Things had been decidedly less complicated after that. And also involved decidedly less clothes.

Initially they’d continued to sleep in separate beds, until winter reared its ugly head – then Lovino, whose room was furthest from the heater, had decided to move into Gilbert’s room, since somehow he had also ended up with the bigger bed.

“Oh and you just didn’t want to mention it?”

“I didn’t know yours was smaller, I just picked one!”

“Uh huh, sure.”

But really, all that had changed was that there was more kissing. And other, more… _intimate_ things, sometimes.

Lovino gets jolted back to reality by Gilbird – he still couldn’t believe that name – tweeting and twittering to himself in the cage that takes up half of Gilbert’s desk, greeting the day in his own little way. Lovino eyes the doorway before quietly whistling at the bird, who pauses for a minute, then whistles back, fluttering his wings a little.

Then, he hears Gilbert’s bare feet pad back down the hallway and into the room, bringing with them the smell of freshly made and buttered toast and the coffee that Lovino has painstakingly taught him to make properly.

There’s a clink from the bedside table that tells him that there’s two mugs and a thud that tells him there’s a plate, then the bed dips and there’s a Gilbert-shaped weight throwing itself across his midsection and taking his breath away in the least romantic way possible.

“Get up grumpy-butt, I brought coffee.”

“And your delivery was really shitty, get off me you asshole!”

Gilbert giggles, rolling off the Lovino-blanket-mound in the middle of the bed and carefully picking up one of the mugs from the bedside as Lovino slowly extracts only the absolutely necessary limbs from the warmth of the blankets. Gilbert passes the mug to him and he takes a sip, noting the fact that Gilbert had made it just the way Lovino likes it – the best way – with no sugar and only a little milk.

When the corners of Lovino’s mouth turn up in a rare smile, it’s then that Gilbert takes his chance and pounces.

“Hey Lovi, you want to go Christmas shopping with me today?”

Lovino splutters into his mug, but Gilbert knows he’s won when Lovino does not immediately shoot the idea down.

“And why would I do that?”

Gilbert plonks himself against the headboard beside Lovino and nudges his shoulder with his own.

“Because I’m the most awesome boyfriend and I brought you breakfast in bed, so therefore you owe me a favour.”

He leans over and picks up the plate of buttered toast from the bedside, picking up a piece and offering it out to Lovino, who takes a bite and slowly chews and swallows before answering.

“Yeah, but I was actually organised and did all my gift-shopping, now it’s fucking December and it’s gonna be hell…”

Gilbert shrugs, smiling slyly.

“Yeah, but there’s one thing you didn’t consider.”

Lovino frowns. “And what’s that?”

Gilbert’s sly smile turns downright wicked.

“I need your help to get gifts for your family, since I’m staying at yours for Christmas.”

Lovino openly gapes and almost drops his coffee in surprise – only his “don’t waste good coffee” reflex saves both the beverage and the sheets.

 “When the fuck was that decided?”

Gilbert looks away, feigning innocence.

“Oh, your brother got in contact with me yesterday and asked me about it – I don’t even know how he got my email, but there you go.”

Gilbert looks back at Lovino, taking in Lovino’s trademark neutral-but-gradually-reddening expression that meant anything from “I am about to attempt murder” to “I am about to kiss you senseless”.

But Lovino does neither of those things – instead, he sighs, putting his coffee mug down on the bedside before he throws it at Gilbert’s head, then crossing his arms and leaning back against the headboard.

“So I suppose you said yes?”

Gilbert nods.

“And there’s nothing I can do to convince my idiot brother otherwise?”

Gilbert shrugs. “He really seemed to think I should come.”

Lovino sighs again, putting a hand over his eyes.

He could already hear the innuendoes spouted by Nonno, and reprimands from Nonna that he wasn’t eating enough, and the not-even-slightly-secretive winks from Feliciano when he explained that Gilbert was his boyfriend now – the bastard would immediately assume that it was because of him that they were together and would take no other explanation, and Lovino would seriously never hear the end of it.

He can feel his teeth gritting, and silently curses Feliciano to a level of hell that didn’t have any pasta – that’d teach him. Then he turns back to Gilbert.

“Fine. But when you’re running for cover from my Nonno don’t come crying to me.”

Gilbert grins – and Lovino knows that Nonno and Gilbert will probably get along just fine, more’s the pity.

“So, shopping this afternoon?”

“We’ll see.”

**

Later that afternoon, the door to the apartment slams open and Lovino collapses through it as though he’s carrying a thousand tonnes – which might as well be true. He’s only carrying one bag, but the amount of coats and other clothing items he has on to preserve warmth actually weigh a considerable amount.

Gilbert follows him, considerably more laden down with bags, kicking the door closed as he all but drops the bags on the kitchen bench and collapses, boneless, over the back of the couch with a groan.

Lovino shrugs off his two most outer layers of coats – the ones that were wet from the snow – then puts on the heater and flops onto the couch himself. He grabs the blanket that they still keep draped over the end and wraps it around himself, shivering a little and letting out a noise of disgust when he curls up before realising that his boots are still wet from the snow and have tainted the couch.

Gilbert, in a smooth, catlike motion, slides fully over the back of the couch and flops down on Lovino, who doesn’t even complain. Instead, he tries to kick off his boots without kicking Gilbert in anything important and gives up after failing, letting the his still booted feet just hang off the couch.

Lovino sighs and pokes Gilbert in the ribs, making him squirm.

“That’s the last time I let you convince me to do anything related to Christmas, I swear. That was fucking terrible.”

Gilbert grunts and shifts, smooshing his face into Lovino’s chest.

“Yeah, even I admit that it was terrible. I forgot how many screaming children there are in any mall during Christmas.”

“I told you about that, you’re just an idiot!”

“Yeah, well you went along with it, so who’s the bigger idiot here?”

Lovino huffs and pushes at Gilbert, just wanting to slip out from under him but instead accidently pushing him off the couch.

Gilbert hits the floor with a yelp and Lovino gets up, shivering and heading into the kitchen.

“Lovi…” Comes the whine from the vicinity of the coffee table, and Lovino smirks.

“Go get changed into something warm, I’m making hot chocolate. If you’re nice you’ll get some.”

Immediately there’s the sound of scuffling and a Gilbert-shaped blur flies past him and into his bedroom, closing the door as Lovino chuckles and gets the new tin of cocoa powder out of his shopping bag.

A few quiet minutes pass, filled with the soft clinking of spoons on the edges of mugs, the boiling kettle, and Lovino’s sighs as he moves to the window to look out on the poor souls still struggling down the street in the cold and wind. As the heater gradually does its work Lovino sheds his layers until he’s down to a t-shirt and one jacket, and he takes off his boots and thanks whatever god blessed him with dry socks.

He hears Gilbert’s door open again, and hears Gilbert’s sock clad feet pad across the floor and into the kitchen.

“Yours is on the bench, and I put the sugar bowl next to it because I know you’re ridiculous.”

He hears a noise of acknowledgement from behind him, then hears Gilbert’s Christmas playlist emanating from his laptop, plugged into the small speaker on Gilbert’ desk and turned up just loud enough for the sound to trickle out the door and permeate the quiet apartment.

Moments later he hears a soft thump from behind him, and he looks around to find Gilbert depositing a pile of cushions and blankets on the floor of the living room and hastily building a nest.

But what concerns Lovino most is what he’s wearing.

“What the fuck is that?”

Gilbert looks around with eyes raised, then looks down at the green and red sweater that’s at least four sizes too big and almost hangs to his knees.

“My favourite Christmas sweater!”

He looks up at Lovino’s raised eyebrows and chuckles. “You love it, don’t lie.”

“No I don’t, it looks like a dog ate your potato crap and then vomited all over it!”

“Aster didn’t mean to, it was an accident!”

Lovino smirks, and Gilbert tries to look offended, brushing the sweater down. “You said change into something warm! And I’ll have you know that Ludwig made this one year as a present, and it’s actually really warm, so there.”

“What, did he make a sack and then add sleeves?”

Gilbert chuckles. “It was for Großvati actually, and then he thought it would suit me better than him.”

Lovino takes in the uneven red and green woollen stripes with festive, crooked yellow detailing – he assumes it was a substitute for gold – and wonders how it could suit anyone, particularly Gilbert with his white-blonde hair and strangely coloured eyes. Everything clashed. It almost physically hurt him.

“I think your brother may be colourblind.”

Gilbert outright laughs at that, rolling up his sleeves and walking over to the kitchen counter to pick up his mug of cooling hot chocolate.

“It’s warm though. I thought you’d be jealous, seeing how you’re always cold.”

Lovino huffs, sipping his hot chocolate in the most sarcastic way he can, but it’s wasted on Gilbert, who returns to his nest, wraps himself in two blankets and holds one arm out as an invitation for Lovino to join him.

Lovino shrugs and puts down his hot chocolate, squirming into the mess of blankets and cushions and cuddling up to Gilbert before they both reclaim their mugs and sip quietly, Lovino’s head on Gilbert’s shoulder and Gilberts arm around Lovino’s waist.

The apartment is quiet save for the occasional sipping sound, their slow breathing, and Bing Cosby wishing for a “White Christmas” quietly in the background as they watch the snow fall outside.

The whole atmosphere creates a bubble of comfort that Lovino revels in, and he can almost see some merit to the season after all.

Gilbert shifts a tiny bit, pressing a kiss into Lovino’s hair and leaning his cheek on his head, swaying a little bit with the music through the next several songs. Lovino, who is deliciously warm and comfortable, is almost asleep when Gilbert tugs his now empty mug from Lovino’s hands and moves, almost depositing Lovino onto the floor.

Lovino makes a noise that was _not_ a whine, thankyou very much, and looks up to see Gilbert taking the mugs over to the sink, washing them quickly while Lovino writhes a little in frustration, then wraps the blanket around his shoulders and walks into the kitchen.

Gilbert may be many things, and he might try hard, but romantic he was not.

Lovino walks up to Gilbert as he dries the mugs efficiently, pressing his face into Gilbert’s shoulder and groaning.

“Now I’m cold again and it’s your fault, jerk.”

Gilbert laughs, putting the mugs away and turning to Lovino, sliding his hands under the blanket and pulling him into a hug.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wear the sweater?”

Lovino grimaces, pulling away from the hug and moving over to the kitchen bench, where Gilbert had deposited the bags filled with their purchases from that morning.

“Being cold doesn’t mean I lose my sense of what looks fucking ridiculous or not.”

“So you wouldn’t wear it even if it’s just me seeing you?”

“No, I wouldn’t wear it on principal of it being a piece of shit.”

Gilbert moves over to the bench next to Lovino, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye and smirking.

“Would you wear it if I paid you?”

Lovino narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gilbert just grins and shifts closer, turning so he’s facing Lovino and pulling the hem of the sweater up.

“Gilbert wait, what – ”

Before he can react, Gilbert pull has pulled the hem of the sweater over his head and down his back, pushing the blanket off his shoulders and trapping him in the woollen garment.

Lovino wriggles a bit, complaints muffled by red and green wool, but his arms are trapped by his sides and Gilbert just shimmies the sweater down until Lovino’s head pops out of the neck of the sweater and almost clocks Gilbert in the chin.

Lovino frowns, opening his mouth to complain, but before he can say anything Gilbert starts assaulting him with dozens of tiny kisses all over his face – on his nose and cheeks and forehead and chin, and when he closes his eyes and tries to wriggle backwards, on his eyelids.

“Lovi, I’m paying you! I’m paying you in kisses, Lovi!”

“Gilbert, stop it – ”

“You can go redeem them for cash down at the post office, guaranteed!”

“Oh my fucking god Gilbert – ”

“They’re 90 cents to the dollar, you better hurry!”

“Gilbert, I – ah!”

Gilbert moves down and pokes his nose into that one ticklish spot on Lovino’s neck, and Lovino can’t help it – he laughs.

Gilbert’s lips tickle and the situation is just so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh, huffing and giggling until he’s left with tears in his eyes, sagging back against the kitchen bench and Gilbert’s arms, which have crept around his back to hold him up.

When he finally calms down he realises that Gilbert’s feather-light kisses have stopped, and  he opens his eyes and looks up curiously, only to spy an expression on Gilbert’s face that looks like he’s seen the Holy Grail and been told he gets to take it home.

Then, he leans forward and gives Lovino a tiny little Eskimo kiss.

“So, are you warm now?”

Lovino snorts, looking down and away and laughing quietly.

“I’m not even gonna answer that.”

Gilbert just chuckles, and when Lovino looks back up, Gilbert leans in and kisses him properly, making Lovino melt – and it has nothing to do with how warm he is.

One thing that Lovino had figured out over the months they’d been together was that Gilbert is not a romantic person. He’s always overbearing with his affection, with no concept of what is too much and often going so far overboard he’s lost sight of the ship.

Gilbert’s hugs are either bone-crushing or far too brief, his idea of a romantic dinner is staying in and ordering take-out, and he always seems to interrupt cuddle sessions before they can come to their natural conclusion.

But no matter what, Gilbert always kisses Lovino passionately, with everything he has – and that’s what makes it perfect.

He might use too much tongue sometimes and when he does, has no idea what to do with it apart from “move it around”, but every peck or gentle press of lips is an expression of affection that Lovino wouldn’t have thought Gilbert was capable of several months ago.

And every single one is absolutely perfect.

Eventually, Lovino pulls back, smiling gently up at Gilbert, who is beaming. Gilbert leans in again, leaving one last little peck on Lovino’s lips before pressing his forehead to Lovino’s and holding him a little tighter.

“Love you, Lovi.”

Lovino sighs, content.

“Love you too, bastard.”

And there, in their tiny kitchen with a gale blowing outside and with Gilbert’s stupid Christmas sweater wrapped around him, staring up into Gilbert’s ambiguously red eyes, Lovino knows that it’s absolutely true.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And there we go, finally done - hopefully this shameless fluff works ok and flows as a bookend to the whole fic, I was just yearning to write some Christmas-y, fluffy Prumano and it seemed to work so... there you go.  
> Thankyou everyone for commenting and leaving kudos and bookmarks and everything else, it's been amazing to know that people have enjoyed this fic, especially since this is my first posted fanfic in the Hetalia fandom... so thankyou for bearing with me, I hope you enjoyed the ride!


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